


let me name the stars for you

by playedwright



Series: the universe was made to be seen by our eyes [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - based on a movie, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Astronauts, Inferred Character Death, Inspired by The Martian (Weir), Is that a thing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Richie Tozier Loves The Word ‘Fuck’, they think he’s dead but he is not! surprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-01-25 01:59:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 58,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21348391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/playedwright/pseuds/playedwright
Summary: “So. To summarize. I’m stranded on Mars, entirely alone. I have absolutely no way to communicate with my crew or with earth, since our communications antennae turned me into a human shish-kabob. If the oxygenator becomes compromised, I’ll suffocate. If the water reclaimer stops working, I’ll dehydrate. Breach in the Hab means I’ll go poof. And if, for some god-forsaken reason none of those things kill me first, I’m gonna run out of food and starve to death. Oh, and we can’t forget that everyone I know thinks I’m dead. So… yup. Totally fucked.”*On Sol 6, an unexpected windstorm cuts the Ares III Mission short and six astronauts retreat back to Earth.On Sol 7, the astronaut they left behind wakes up gasping for air.(Or, The Martian au)
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: the universe was made to be seen by our eyes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1565464
Comments: 681
Kudos: 1456





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “mars, you already have a wip started and it’s in a different fandom, what are you doing!!!”
> 
> i am hyperfixating till i die, let me be on brand and post super niche aus that no one asked for okay i’m sad about the clown movie

**VIDEO LOG: SOL 7 - Tozier, R**

“So. I’ve deduced that I’m pretty much totally fucked.”

_ [Tozier laughs, short and clipped.] _

“For the record, that is a viable opinion from a certified scientist. I am one-hundred percent, guaranteed or your money back, totally fucked. Welcome to space, Richie! If someone would have been like, ‘Hey, wanna go to space to get murdered by some wind?’, I probably would have said no.”

_ [Tozier shifts absentmindedly, and a grimace of pain crosses his expression shortly after. He tightens the blanket around his shoulders.] _

“Guess I can’t make that joke since the wind didn’t actually murder me. For whoever finds this a hundred years from now, I didn’t die on Sol 6. Though I will die here, there’s no doubt about that. But it won’t be on Sol 6 like everyone will think. Go ahead and update my Wikipedia article. Hey, while you’re at it, can you add something about me being dashingly handsome in my video logs? It’s important to me that I’m remembered as the attractive astronaut.”

_ [With a wince, Tozier leans forward and lifts his shirt, showing off a stapled, bright red wound. It is clear that he treated the wound himself.] _

“My best guess is this wound saved my life. On our way to the MAV, the main communication dish got caught in the wind and crashed into the antenna array. Knocked an antennae lose and sent it rocketing towards little ole’ me. Caught me right in the stomach. I don’t remember much after that. The pain probably knocked me out. Lucky for me, landing face first and bleeding extensively gave my suit a weak-ass seal, which is probably what kept me alive.”

_ [Tozier drops his shirt and looks away from the camera.] _

“Commander, if you see this—”

_ [He sucks in a sharp breath. His hand covers his wound.] _

“Everyone. Guys, if you see this… it wasn’t your fault. For the love of Christ, I swear if I find out one of you fuckers ever feels guilty about this, I’ll travel through space just to come back to Earth and haunt your stupid asses. You did what you had to do. God, I would have done the same thing. Thank Jesus you guys made it out.”

_ [When he pauses, the wind howling outside the Hab becomes noticeably louder. Tozier shudders and draws the blanket tighter around himself.] _

“So. To summarize. I’m stranded on Mars, entirely alone. I have absolutely no way to communicate with my crew or with earth, since our communications antennae turned me into a human shish-kabob. If the oxygenator becomes compromised, I’ll suffocate. If the water reclaimer stops working, I’ll dehydrate. Breach in the Hab means I’ll go poof. And if, for some god-forsaken reason none of those things kill me first, I’m gonna run out of food and starve to death. Oh, and we can’t forget that everyone I know thinks I’m dead. So… yup. Totally fucked.”

  
  
  
  
  


** _SOL 6; Mars, Hab, Medbay_ **

_ Written log by Dr. E. Kaspbrak _

_ Vitals are normal. Consumed one food pack for breakfast, 8 oz. reclaimed water. Daily multivitamin consumed at 0620, second dose to be consumed at 1200. Commencing weekly wellness checks on crew today. _

“Oh my god, Eds, are you writing in your diary again? That’s literally the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Fuck you,” Eddie says, without looking up from his med journal. He doesn’t need to look up to know that it’s Richie sliding into the chair next to him. He’s eating out of his own food pack and making comical faces with each bite.

“Seriously, dude, what’s the point of that?”

Eddie swats at his hand when Richie reaches forward to take it. “Posterity,” he snaps. “Medical journals, asshole. Maybe I want to get published when I get back to earth, ever think of that?”

“Ooh, feisty, Dr. K,” Richie croons. He points his food pack towards Eddie. “Wanna bite?”

“I already ate.”

Richie tuts like he’s disappointed. “You skipped our daily breakfast date? How could you. My heart is completely broken.”

Eddie sighs. He knows, by now, that this is just how Richie is, but it’s more fun to act put out by the whole thing. He worries sometimes that Richie will get bored of annoying him and go annoy, like, Uris instead. “Are you here for your wellness check?”

“I feel _ very _well, Dr. Kaspbrak,” Richie says seriously. “But if you want to check me out, I mean, feel free to do so whenever you want.”

Eddie puts his med journal in a drawer and reaches for his stethoscope. Even with all his teasing, Richie still leans forward and makes it easier for Eddie to do his job. “Do you ever stop flirting with literally anything that moves?”

“Oh, baby, this is reserved especially for you,” Richie says. There’s a sincerity in his voice that Eddie can’t bear to think about for too long.

“Heart rate is normal,” he notes. He writes it down on Richie’s chart, pointedly ignoring Richie’s amused laughter. “Blood pressure?”

Richie extends his arm.

“Hey,” calls a voice from the doorway. Commander Marsh regards them both with a raised eyebrow. “If you two weirdos are done flirting, we just got word from Houston. That storm they were worried about has been upgraded to ‘severe’. It’ll be here in fifteen.”

Richie stands. “Fuck. Aren’t Denbrough and Hanscom outside?”

Marsh nods. “They’re headed back in. Suit up. There’s a chance we might have to head to the MAV.”

“Damnit,” Eddie mutters. He scrambles to his feet.

The time between getting their suits on and making the decision to actually prepare for emergency takeoff seems to go by in the blink of an eye. Eddie feels like he has whiplash as he secures his suit and stands next to Richie in Airlock 1. There’s a part of him that’s devastated they’re most likely scrapping the mission, especially after only being here six sols, but it’s overwhelmed by his blood pounding through his body. Adrenaline is one hell of a drug. Commander Marsh opens the airlock, and they trudge out in pairs towards the MAV.

“Christ, you can’t see anything in this shit,” Richie pants. “Commander—”

“Visibility is almost zero. You guys know the drill. Home in on my suit’s telemetry if you get lost. It’s just gonna get worse the farther away from the Hab we get, so you need to prepare yourselves. Look out for one another.”

“Buddy system,” Hanscom says seriously.

Hanlon’s laugh fills the comms. “Good to know the stuff they teach you in preschool is still applicable when you’re a literal astronaut.”

“Less jokey, more walky,” Richie wheezes. He’s struggling to keep pace next to Eddie, fighting against the wind and carrying the heavy weight of the suit with him. They’ll all be sweaty by the time they reach the MAV.

“Sorry, did the r-r-resident comedian just tell someone to stop making jokes?” Denbrough asks.

Richie coughs and wheezes a few more times before he continues. “I’m just saying, I can barely see the ground in front of me. I can’t focus with you fucknuts making terrible attempts at humor, I’m gonna feel the need to upstage you—”

Coming abruptly out of the sand, something strikes Richie and tears him out of Eddie’s line of sight. There’s a strangled shout on the comms before the static creaks and then goes silent.

“_Richie_!” Eddie screams.

“What happened?” Marsh demands.

“Holy fuck, something just hit hit him—_Richie_—”

“Tozier, report,” Marsh commands.

Strong arms seize Eddie and force him forward. Hanlon, he thinks desperately, though he can’t tear his eyes away from the empty space where Richie was standing just a few seconds ago. He struggles against Hanlon, thinking that if he can just get back to where Richie was, then they can find him.

“Tozier, _ report_,” Marsh repeats. There’s an edge of desperation in her voice that everyone tries to ignore.

“He’s offline,” Uris informs them quietly. “I can’t locate his telemetry, either.”

“Mike, _ stop holding me_, we have to find him!” Eddie shouts.

Over the comms, Marsh says, “Kaspbrak, where did you last see him?”

“He was just right next to me, he’s gotta be close, _ guys_—”

“Kaspbrak!” Marsh says sharply. Her voice shakes. “I need you to answer me. Where did you last see him?”

A shudder tears through Eddie’s body. “He was immediately to my right and then he was just gone. Something came out of the wind, I think it—I think it hit him. He flew off due west.”

Uris’s voice crackles as he speaks again. “Commander. His decompression alarm was going off before we lost telemetry.”

A strangled sob breaks out of Eddie’s throat.

“How long can a person survive decompression?” Denbrough asks quietly.

Eddie knows they’re waiting for him to answer, he’s the fucking _doctor_ for crying out loud, but the words are stuck in his throat—choking him. It’s Uris, once again, who answers in his place. “Less than a minute.”

“Okay,” Marsh snaps. “Hanscom, get to the MAV and prep for launch. Take Denbrough with you. Everyone else, home in on Uris’s telemetry. Walk west, small steps. We can’t risk stepping over him.”

Hanlon keeps his grip on Eddie as they move, slowly, forward. Eddie’s eyes scour through the red sand, desperate for any trace of Richie. Something is still clawing at his throat. He’s afraid that he won’t recognize the sound that comes out if he opens his mouth.

“Commander,” Hanscom says. His comm is clearer now, meaning he made it to the MAV. “We’re at a seven-degree tilt.”

“Copy.”

“Message from Houston. Mission’s officially closed, we’re definitely taking off. The Hab won’t survive the storm. We need to get in the air.”

Marsh’s voice shakes again when she repeats, “Copy that.”

Eddie’s arm computer beeps. His heart drops into his stomach. “Commander,” he says. He hates how his voice breaks. “I got a message from Richie’s bio-monitor.”

“I did, too,” Uris confirms. “Plaintext. BP 0, PR 0. TP 36.2.”

It is only Hanlon’s grip around his shoulders that keeps Eddie from dropping to his knees. Blood is rushing through his ears, vicious and loud. He wonders if he is screaming. His throat feels raw and dry.

“Dr. Kaspbrak?” Hanlon asks.

There is nothing steady in his voice as he says, “Blood pressure zero. Pulse… pulse rate zero. Temperature normal.”

“Temperature _normal_?” Marsh repeats. There’s a hope in her voice that Eddie knows the whole crew is clinging onto. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and hopes he isn’t crying.

“Commander, tilt is at ten degrees.”

They all hear it over the comm when Marsh swallows thickly. “Copy. You’re ready to launch?”

“At any time,” Hanscom confirms.

Marsh hesitates for a second. Her voice is a lot stronger when she asks, “If it tips, can you still launch before it’s completely fallen over?”  
  


“What?” Hanscom asks. The sentiment is echoed by both Denbrough and Uris. “Yes, Commander, I believe I could.”

“You believe you could, or you can, Hanscom? I need definite answers.”

Hanscom clears his throat. “I can, ma’am.”

“Copy,” Marsh reports. “Everyone. Home in on Hanscom, get to the MAV. Prep for launch. I—I have to keep looking. Hanscom, if you start to tip… launch.”

Hanscom’s voice is sharp when he says, “I won’t leave you behind, Commander.”

“I just ordered you to. Kaspbrak, Hanlon, Uris, _ move_.”

It takes the hands of both Uris and Hanlon to get Eddie moving. He blinks and loses track of the spot where he’d last seen Richie, and panic fills his chest. Richie’s voice echoes in his heads, those last stupid words he said to make them all laugh. That can’t be the last thing he hears Richie say. Eddie has never been religious, but he finds himself praying to any god that will listen that Marsh finds him out there.

They’ve just made it to the MAV airlock when Marsh’s voice comes over the comms again. “Uris, can we use the rover IR camera to look?”

Uris glances at Eddie. “Negative,” he admits. “The wind is picking up too much sand.”

“She’s grasping,” Hanlon murmurs. He opens the inner door and nudges Eddie up the later. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Tilting at eleven-point-six,” Hanscom warns. “Commander, please—”

“Proximity radar?” Marsh asks desperately.

“No,” Eddie murmurs. “That won’t detect the metal in one man’s space suit.”

“Commander,” Hanscom says again. “I know none of us want to hear it but Toz—Bev... Richie’s dead.”

“Try the radar, Hanscom.”

“Get to the M-M-MAV, Bev,” Denbrough says. He leans across Eddie to help strap him in; Eddie doesn’t even remember sitting down. “We’re not leaving you here. It’s bad enough we have to l-l-l… leave Richie.”

Eddie looks up at him sharply. “We can’t leave him,” he says. Denbrough pulls his hands away once Eddie’s straps are secure and looks Eddie in the eye. “We can’t leave him! He’s just hurt! Ben, try the radar—”

“Eddie,” Hanscom says gently. Denbrough sits down in his seat and straps up quickly. Once he’s secure, he braces one arm against Eddie, holding him in place. Eddie claws uselessly at his own straps.

“Get to the ship now, Marsh,” Hanscom says again. “He’s gone, ma’am. Richie’s gone.”

“_No, _we can still help him! Guys, he’s just hurt! We can still save him!” Eddie shouts. Bill’s arm bears down on him harder. “We can’t leave him here!”

“Commander,” Uris murmurs.

“Copy,” she replies, after far too long. Her voice is thick but no one comments on it. “On my way.”

Next to Eddie, Richie’s empty seat seems like a beacon. Bill holds firm against Eddie, though Eddie’s thrashing too desperately to actually be able to remove his straps. He’s still babbling, he must be, because his throat feels like it’s been cut open and screamed raw, but he can’t hear anything except for Richie’s stupid voice. Less than an hour ago, Richie was _ flirting with him in the medbay._

The airlock opens and Marsh storms inside, wordlessly removing her suit before collapsing into her couch. She straps up silently.

“Ready for launch.”

“_No_,” Eddie shouts. “We can’t—Richie! _ Richie_!”

“Commander, I need your verbal consent to launch,” Hansom says, raising his voice to be heard over Eddie.

“Launch,” she confirms. Her voice is steady and emotionless. “Kaspbrak—”

“_We can still help him_!”

  
  
  


The launch goes perfectly. The six members of the _ Hermes _crew back onboard make it safely off of Mars. In the absence of what would normally be a celebration, the only sound that can be heard is Eddie’s sobbing.

  
  
  
  
  


Hours later, an astronaut wakes up on Martian soil gasping for air.  
  
  
  


**VIDEO LOG: SOL 9 - Tozier, R**

_ [Tozier sits in front of the camera. There is still a blanket around his shoulders, but there are no longer bags under his eyes and he is no longer pale. There is even a ghost of a smile on his lips.] _

“Alright, I’ve decided to stop being so damn dramatic. If my crew could hear me saying this, they’d all be rolling their eyes and saying, ‘sure, Richie, we totally believe you, you’ll never overreact again’, to which I say with all the love in my heart, fuck you guys.”

_ [Tozier’s smile turns into a full-blown grin.] _

“I had the best crew, guys. Anyway. Now that I’ve decided to be less dramatic, I have also decided that I want to live. Operation: Get Richie The Fuck Off Of Mars is officially in its beginning stages. I’m pretty sure I can find a way to stay alive. I mean, all I have to do is magically find enough food to keep me from starving to death until they can get a rescue rocket out here for me. Gotta find some more water so I don’t dehydrate. Gotta find a way to turn this Hab suited for a month-long mission into a year-long home. Oh, and I have to find some way to either get in contact with my crew or with Earth to tell them I’m alive so they can actually send someone to rescue me. Easy peasy lemon squeezy, right?”

_ [The blanket falls off of one of Tozier’s shoulders, and he straightens it as he rolls his eyes.] _

“Well, like I said. I’ve decided to live, and I’m a stubborn fuck, so we’re doing this. It helps that I’m smart as hell. Probably the smartest person on the crew, let’s be honest. Sorry, guys, if you ever see this. And yes, I even mean smarter than you, Dr. K. Med school doesn’t make you all that impressive, Eds. Just makes you a douche.”

_ [Tozier grins at the camera. He takes a careful sip of his water and marks the waterline with a sharpie before he speaks again.] _

“Anyway. Today I ravaged all of our supplies to figure out what I’m working with. Our surface mission was scheduled to last thirty-one sols. To cover their asses, NASA sent the supply probes with food for fifty-six days. Excessive, right? Well, it’s gonna save my life. So we’ve got fifty sols worth of food for seven people—we were on Sol 6 when the mission went to shit, so fifty-six minus six—that puts me at three hundred and fifty sols. If I ration it, I can stretch it even longer. I guess I can safely say that food is not my main concern right this second.”

_ [In Tozier’s hands is a notebook, which he shows to the camera. Written in his messy scrawl, there’s a numbered list that reads: _

  * _Satellite dish missing_
  * _MAV gone_
  * _MDV tipped and breached_
  * _Rovers buried_
  * _No comm with weather stations_
  * _No comm period_

_ The sixth one is underlined. Tozier drops the notebook and leans back in his chair, wincing and pulling the blanket around him tighter still.] _

“The thing is, Mars will be populated with people from earth again in four-ish years when the Ares IV mission lands. So I just have to find a way to survive on a planet not fit for human life, for four years. I’ve got a lot of fucking work to do to get this done. Luckily, I have a few ideas.”

_ [Tozier warily eyes something off-screen from the camera. He looks particularly unenthused about whatever ideas he may have.] _

“The good news is, if I make it out of this, they’re gonna make so many fucking movies about me.”

  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 9 [Cont., text] - Tozier, R**

_ Fucking communications. I might as well stand on a tall rock and scream at the general direction of Earth. That would get me farther than the damn comm array will. But thank god one of its stupid antennae fucking impaled me, right? Tender fucking mercies. _

  
  
  
  


**VIDEO LOG: SOL 11 - Tozier, R**

“Kids, don’t go to school for fucking botany.”

_ [Tozier swivels from side to side in his chair. There’s a thoughtful, almost pleased expression on his face. At the desk, tons of notebooks are sprawled out, each covered in notes and calculations.] _

“I am a botanist, so I can say this, but shit’s lame as hell. I mean, like, I’m very obviously the bottom of the totem pole when it comes to my crew. ‘Oh good, Richie’s here to talk about plants and fix things with Bill accidentally breaks them! Thank god we brought the guy who specializes in botany and mechanical engineering to the planet with hostile soil.’ Fret not though, guys. They gave me, like, three whole ounces of Earth soil to work with here. I’m practically saved.”

_ [Tozier rolls his eyes.] _

“God, if I survive this and NASA sees these, they’re probably going to fire me. Or send me back into space alone until I’m stranded.”

_ [He trails off for a moment, staring at his notes. His face grows focused the longer he stays silent.] _

“Well, hey. If anyone is going to figure out a way to grow crops on Mars, it’s gonna be the fucking botanist.”

  
  
  
  


**VIDEO LOG: SOL 11 [Cont.] - Tozier, R**

_ [Tozier sits in front of the camera. His expression is somehow a mix between pleased and disgusted. He is still swiveling in his chair.] _

“Good news. I have an idea that might be able to turn one year worth of food into four. I might legitimately be able to grow crops on Mars.”

_ [Tozier holds up a silver bag. There’s still a hint of a cringe on his face despite the fact that a huge grin starts to split his features. It’s clear he’s thrilled with the chance to crack a joke.] _

“Bad news. My job just got eighty percent _ shittier_.”

  
  
  
  


**VIDEO LOG: SOL 19 - Tozier, R**

“I think my back is broken. I legitimately think I have a broken back, and Eddie-Spaghetti isn’t even here to heal me. I’m really going to die of a broken back on a planet that’s trying tooth and nail to murder me dead. The audacity.”

_ [Tozier flinches as he shifts into a new pose. He’s stretched out on the ground on top of a makeshift yoga mat. His face goes through a series of comical painful expressions.] _

“Hanscom would be so proud of me. The past few days, all I’ve done is haul bucket after bucket of dirt into the Hab like I'm some goddamn mountain man. Manual labor for days. Ben would be bursting from the _ seams _with pride at me finally doing, like, any kind of physical activity. Dude is a nut about working out. I’m sure you guys know, I mean, Christ, do I even have to tell you guys about that dude’s abs?”

_ [Tozier attempts to touch his toes and lets out an agonized noise. He straightens up and grimaces at the camera.] _

“I know what you’re all thinking. Richie, don’t they require astronauts to pass a series of physical capability tests before they shoot you up into space? The answer is yes, and I passed them, but that doesn’t mean I liked it. I had a point with this. Where were we going… ”

_ [After one last half-hearted attempt to stretch, Tozier kicks at the ground and rolls his eyes. He grabs a chair and collapses into it.] _

“Okay. I was talking about dirt. I should probably explain why I transported a hundred and twenty-six square meters of dirt into the pristine space that used to be our workspace. Remember how I said NASA sent me up here with a teeny tiny bit of earth soil? That shit’s gonna save my life. Well—that, and the literal shit I’m about to get my hands on. The bacterial activity is going to make that Martian soil viable.”

_ [Tozier tosses a pen up in the air a few times and catches it.] _

“The thing is, it didn’t matter if I had viable soil because I had nothing to plant in it. NASA only sent me with grass seeds. That wouldn’t do much to help the calorie count I’m trying to reach. But lo! I discovered… _ potatoes_.”

_ [There’s a thrilled grin on his face as he holds up a large silver package.] _

“Thank god for American holidays. NASA shrinks thought it’d be good for us to make a real-ass Thanksgiving dinner. The whole deal. Hey guys, I have a fun joke. What happens when you throw seven of the smartest morons in the world onto a foreign planet and ask them to make a Thanksgiving meal? Well, I guess I can’t tell you since I’ll be here alone, but I can tell you… it wouldn’t be pretty. I don’t know if they sent carving knives, but someone probably would have been stabbed by one. Anyway. Potatoes. Those fuckers grow in dirt. Which means… There’s a chance I’ll have a food supply to last me until the next Mars mission."

_ [For the first time, Tozier looks truly relieved _ — _ like he’s finally starting to believe he might actually survive.] _

  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 20 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ Damnit. Fucking damnit. I’m a goddamn moron. _

_ Great job, me! I discovered potatoes and I even mashed shit together to make fertilizer, but that does a fat load of good when I have no fucking water to grow crops. _

_ See, here’s the issue. I need 250mL of water to keep the soil and crops taken care of. There’s about 50mL outside of the water reclaimer that I could use, except for I need to have that in case the water reclaimer breaks. So I’m only 250mL short of my goal, and I have to find a way to draw it out of thin air. _

_ If anyone gets any ideas, let me know. Haha._

*

Richie lays on his bunk, hands clasped under his head as he stares at the ceiling. He never thought he’d start to memorize what the upside of the Hab looked like, but it’s not like there’s much else for him to do. He wakes up, he checks all of his equipment to make sure he isn’t in imminent danger of dying, he opens up a food pack and scarfs down as much as he can. He sits down in front of some empty notebooks and writing out meaningless math like it will solve his problems.

The thing is, Richie is pretty sure his soil is actually going to work. He’s thought about it from every angle. He has a higher chance of keeping his potato plants alive because he has all the time in the world to devote individual attention to every plant. He has a plan to replant flowering bodies deeper and plant younger buds above them, giving him a greater crop. He thinks if he resets the Hab temperature, he can get them to grow faster. No harsh weather conditions on the safe inside of the Hab, no parasites since there’s no other life on this stupid planets, no other crops to compete in the soil. Richie _ knows _, he knows it in his bone marrow that if he could get the crops planted that they would thrive.

It’s just… the fucking _ water_.

He knows the formula. Hell, it was one of the first things he learned when he started to realize he actually liked science. Water equals hydrogen plus oxygen plus fire. The problem is, there’s literally nothing in the Hab that he could set on fire. NASA is ardently anti-fire, since fire plus space does _ not _equal anything great.

Richie sits up suddenly. He remembers seeing something, maybe, tucked in the bottom of one of his bins. He’s dug through every compartment in the Hab a thousand times, taken inventory just as many, and he’s pretty sure he has something.

He dives for the ground, where his bin is under his bunk. Meticulously labeled in Eddie’s neat handwriting is _ Tozier, R. Botanist. _Richie smiles despite himself, tugging the bin closer. It takes him a minute, but eventually his fingers brush against the thing he’d been looking for.

Richie pulls out the wooden cross his mother had pressed into his hands before he left for Houston and insisted he take with him. Richie hasn’t gone to church since he was old enough to start asking people to buy him beer, but his mother has always been devout and he can’t deny her anything. Thank god he’d told NASA to stuff it up their asses when they tried to tell him not to take it. _ It’s for my mother, _ he’d snapped. _ You gonna tell Maggie Tozier that you took my cross away before sending me up into bottomless space? She’ll murder you dead if I die up there and she finds out you took away this cross, her last gift to her only child, before sending me up. _

“Sorry, Ma,” Richie mutters, and he grips the cross tighter. 

  
  
  
  


**[NOVEMBER 2035, EARTH - SOL 25, MARS]**

Eddie sits in the medbay, legs tucked underneath him on his chair, and stares out the porthole into endless space and wonders if he’ll ever feel anything in his chest again. There’s a pen in his hands that he twiddles back and forth. He thinks that he was writing with it, not that long ago, before he got distracted.

In front of him is the letter he’s been drafting to Richie’s parents for a week straight.

It’s not like he can mail it. Eddie knows that even if he managed to get anything written that it wouldn’t matter anyway, because the Toziers wouldn’t see it until Eddie could deliver it himself, and then he could say everything he needed to say in person.

He thought it would be cathartic. Talking about it on a piece of paper to people who feel the same anguish he’s feeling. Bill had agreed, said something about _ working through the trauma_, so Eddie tore a few empty pages out of his medical journal and sat down resolved to deal with it.

The thing is—he’s not dealing with it. He’s not. Because somewhere on a planet miles behind them, they left Richie behind. Dead.

The pen slips out of his hand.

They had to sedate him, by the time they made it back to the _ Hermes_. He’s not sure when he stopped screaming on the MAV, though it must have happened eventually because he was silent as they abandoned the MAV for the Hermes. As soon as they were safely on board and back in 0.4g, however, Eddie had made the mistake of turning and catching sight of the red planet through one of the portholes. He doesn’t remember much after that besides Ben’s arms around his hands and catching sight of Stan’s crying face as Eddie was dragged to the medbay.

Honestly, sometimes Eddie thinks he’s still sedated. He certainly hasn’t felt the same ever since he woke up and realized, again, that Richie is gone for good.

_ Dear Maggie and Went, _ the top of his letter reads. He doesn’t know where to go from there. _ I’m sorry that Richie’s gone? I’m sorry that we left him on a desolate planet and couldn’t even bring a body home for you to bury? I’m sorry that I never got the chance to tell Richie the truth, never had a chance to meet you both properly like I always hoped I would? _

Eddie pushes the papers away. Confessions for a dead man have never gotten anyone anywhere, and Eddie sure as hell isn’t going to write something down that he never got the chance to say out loud.

  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 30 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ It’s been a few days. _

_ I have an idea. A stupid, moronic, borderline-suicidal idea that is _ _ stupid _ _ , if I haven’t mentioned that already. I can literally hear Eddie’s voice telling me I’m a moron and asking me if I’ve considered all the risks. Well, jokes on you Eddie-baby, I have considered all the risks because I am a genius, even if my ideas are stupid, which is why I’m gonna go through with this. _

_ Let me break it down, because I went to school for this shit and the science is still boggling even me: I’m gonna bag my little baby potato plants and transport them to the rover so that they don’t get fucked during this whole thing. I don’t want to make all the shit I (literally) dug through redundant. The plan is simple from there, really. I’m gonna vent pure oxygen into the tent thingy I made out of NASA-grade trash bags and duct tape. Then light the oxygen on fire. Then I’ll take the wood chips I got from the cross (again, Ma, I’m so sorry. I’ll buy you a new cross when I make it off this hellscape. Maybe I’ll make you one. You’ll be the only Catholic on the planet with a genuine Mars rock cross.) and point my oxygen fire at it. Then with the torch I can start the Hydrazine flow and boom, I’ll have water! Easy peasy lemon squeezy. I’m gonna go drop the Hab temp and reduce to O2 content before I try this incredibly risky science shit. _

  
  
  
  


**VIDEO LOG: SOL 31 - Tozier, R**

_ [Tozier sits in front of the camera, scorched and pissed off. There’s a blanket around his shoulders and a part of his suit that is still smoking. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.] _

“I blew myself up. You may be thinking, _ Richie, how’d you blow yourself up? I thought you reduced the O2 content so you wouldn’t blow up. _ And you’d be right. But hey, for as much as I preach about being a fucking genius, I forgot to account for the excess oxygden I’ve been exhaling while I did my calculations. Because I’m a goddamn moron.”

_ [His eyes slip closed. An indiscernible amount of time passes before he speaks again.] _

“I’ll get back to it as soon as my ears stop ringing. Ah, fuck. I should probably find a shirt that’s not on fire.”

  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 31 [Cont., text] - Tozier, R**

_ Good news! In the wake of me being literally too terrified to risk blowing myself again, I discovered music!!! So far I’ve only recovered the data-sticks for Hanscom and Kaspbrak, but god, anything is better than listening to the soundtrack of Mars’ Nights again. Goodbye scary wind, hello sweet tunes. I have very VERY VERY little faith in Eddie to have anything good on his playlist so I’m starting with Ben’s. Thank god for humanity and their inability to go places without music, right? _

  
  
  
  


**VIDEO LOG: SOL 31 [Cont.] - Tozier, R**

“NKOTB, Ben? Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

_ [Tozier grimaces as the chorus to _ Hangin’ Tight _ starts up again. It’s the most miserable he has looked so far.] _

  
  
  
  


**VIDEO LOG: SOL 34 - Tozier, R**

_ [Tozier sits in front of the camera wearing his EVA suit. His helmet is on the desk next to him, hair matted to his forehead with sweat. There’s a small, tired grin on his face that suggests he’s been at work for a long time.] _

“So a few sols ago, I blew myself up. It took some serious pep-talks, but I convinced myself to go back in that same day. Didn’t want to have to keep adjusting the O2 content and I knew I needed to get it done. I adjusted my math, accounting for my breathing, and lit the torch again. My DIY Hydrazine started venting. I was so relieved I had to run out before I burst into tears and set myself on fire again.”

_ [Tozier laughs like he’s in shock. His expression says the same thing.] _

“Few hours later, I had _ condensation _ That’s right. I created water on fucking Mars. It’s nice and humid in my little homemade farm. Been a few days, and it refilled the water reclaimer too.”

_ [He leans forward. There’s exhaustion in his movements but it is evident he is pleased with himself.] _

“I think I deserve a whole fucking ration tonight.”

  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 40 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ Ben Hanscom, I no longer trust you with my life. You could have picked any boy band in the world to load your data-stick up with, and you chose New Kids On The Block? This is honestly disrespectful. It’s 2035, dude. Those are some dudes that can be left in the past. _

_ Eduardo, my main squeeze, I’m trusting you to have anything redeeming on your data-stick. Never thought I’d be in a position to hope you’d have a better taste in music than a fucking badass pilot. Save the day, Dr. K. _

  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 48 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ I’ve been a botanist for a while but I never thought that I’d be this excited over a tiny little sprout. _

_ For the last few sols all I have done is work, eat, and sleep. Pretty regular day at the office, right? Except for while I was doing my work yesterday I was wandering past the farm when a tiny little green leaf caught my eye. _

_ I have a SPROUT. _

_ I’m thinking of naming him Stanley. I figure, a plant’s gotta be pretty damn stubborn to survive on a planet that’s never had plants before, and who’s the most stubborn asshole I know? Why, Stanley Uris, of course. _

_ Hope you’re taking care of the rest of our dudes, Stan the Spaceman. I’ll take care of Sprout Stan for the time being, okay? _

  
  
  
  
  


**[JANUARY 2036]**

Mindy Park has spent the last three hours of work staring at her coffee cup. It’s the same way she’s spent pretty much all of her shifts for the last month or so, and the boring routine is starting to tire her out a bit, if she’s being honest.

She was so excited to get the job offer, thrilled for an opportunity to work for NASA, that she’d taken it without really asking what the implications were. Turns out that monitoring the satellites around Mars actually meant waiting for new pictures to come in so she could send emails sometimes.

Her computer chimes with a work order from Venkat Kapoor, a name she vaguely recognizes. She’s pretty sure he had something to do with the Ares III mission.

The latitude and longitude of the images catch her eye.

She definitely recognizes those.

Feeling guilty and quite a bit sad as she pulls up the first of the seventeen images, she examines it curiously. These are the first images of the Ares III site since the storm, before the crew abandoned their mission. She tells herself she isn’t looking for Richie Tozier’s body, because that is an extremely morbid thing to do. She’s both relieved and disappointed when she doesn’t find anything.

Mindy shakes her head. She should focus on the task at hand. She goes to add the photos to the database to send to Venkat Kapoor before a thought crosses her mind and she stops in the middle of the action.

She furrows her brow. “What…”

There’s a part of Mindy that feels like she’s overreacting as she goes to pull up photos from Sol 6. She clicks between the two images, deathly silent and sick to her stomach.

_Oh my god._ _Oh, no…_

She knocks over her coffee in her haste to reach for the phone. She doesn’t need it to keep her awake anymore, anyway.

“This is Mindy Park in SatCon. I need the emergency contact number for Dr. Venkat Kapoor, immediately. I promise you, _ this _is an emergency.”

  
  
  
  


**FULL TRANSCRIPT: Annie Montrose’s Update on Richard Tozier, NASA Astronaut**

_ Montrose, PR Director for NASA, addresses the public with a short announcement regarding Richard Tozier of Ares III, on January 4th, 2035. _

(Transcript provided via the New York Times)

MONTROSE: Thank you all for coming. I know we gave you very short notice, but this announcement is quite important. If you could please take your seats.

HESS (NBC): Has something happened with the _ Hermes_? Are all our astronauts still safe?

MONTROSE: Please. Take your seats. This announcement will be very brief, but as I mentioned earlier, it is very important. I will not be taking any questions at this time. However, there will be a full press conference and a Q&A segment held in about an hour. We have recently reviewed new satellite imagery from Mars. After careful review and consideration, we can confirm that astronaut Richard Tozier is still alive. Thank you for your time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> captain’s log:  
hello! me again. i’m super excited about this story that’s been practically consuming me since i first sat down to write it. my hope is to update once a week, with some exceptions, because i .... am in nursing school and working full time and spare time is a commodity that i am not good at regulating BUT I WILL DO MY BEST !
> 
> credit to, of course, author andy weir (i’m begging you to read the book if you haven’t yet!!!) and screenwriter drew goddard for creating this story i fell in love with forever ago and am unable of letting go, so much to the point i wrote an au based on their universe. anything you recognize comes from them, i’m definitely not science-y enough to come up with it on my own.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's... a lot of science stuff that goes in to surviving all alone on a planet that is not suitable for human life and unfortunately a lot of it does not.. fit.... into a fanfiction.... so. just assume that where there are gaps there is........ science.....................

**[MARCH 2033, EARTH]**

“Tozier, come meet the rest of the crew.”

Commander Marsh’s hand touches his arm, and Richie is drawn away from his conversation he’d been having with some mechanical engineering student from MIT. He gives her an apologetic smile and hurries hot behind Marsh’s heels. “Yes, Commander.”

She laughs. “Until we’re on that ship, please call me Beverly. I have a flute of champagne in my hand. I hardly feel commanderly.”

Richie clinks his glass against hers. “Cheers to that, Bev.”

Beverly leads him to a man with kind eyes and a nice smile and the most attractive face Richie has personally ever laid eyes on. He feels a bit dumbstruck as he shakes the guy’s hand. “Richie, this is Ben Hanscom. He’ll be our pilot. Ben, this is Richie Tozier. Botanist and mechanical engineer.”

“Hey, real question, did NASA tell everyone they were holding modeling auditions and then pluck everyone from there? Where the fuck did they find me, the bottom of a trash heap?” Richie asks. Beverly and Ben both laugh, though Ben’s cheeks still turn a light shade of pink. Richie has a hard time believing this guy is unfamiliar with compliments.

Still, he’s polite enough as he says, “It’s nice to meet you, Richie.”

“Likewise. It’s fitting that your name is, like, barely two letters away from handsome, dude, I mean. Christ. Seriously.”

Beverly hits his chest. “Stop, you’re embarrassing him.”

Richie grins. “Oh, sweetheart, I could go all night.”

“Ben, in another life, Richie must have been a stand-up comedian,” Beverly says in a conspiring tone. Her hand rests on Ben’s bicep. Richie’s chest puffs out in pride at her words. “Most likely a terrible one, of course, but damn if he didn’t try.”

Richie makes an affronted noise, but Ben laughs like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard. Richie scowls. “I want off this mission, Jesus, you guys are mean. Excuse me, NASA? These pretty people are bullying me, can you find a different guy to look at approximately zero plants on Mars?”

“Stop, you haven’t even met the rest of the crew,” Beverly tells him. She grabs his wrist and keeps him in place. Richie’s glad, at least, that he gets the impression they’ll all be comfortable with one another. This trip would be hell if he can’t stand these people. “Oh, there’s Dr. Kaspbrak. Rich, have you had a chance to meet our doctor yet?”

He shakes his head. Beverly calls out to Dr. Kaspbrak, waving him over, and Richie lifts his gaze from the ground to get a good look at the guy.

His heart leaps right into his throat.

“Hey, I want you to meet Richie Tozier,” he faintly hears Beverly saying. There’s blood rushing to his ears. The room at once feels too warm and too large, but all he can focus on is the guy in front of him. “Richie, this is Eddie Kaspbrak.”

Eddie extends a hand. Richie must move on autopilot, because he certainly doesn’t tell his hand to grasp Eddie’s. Eddie’s grip is strong, though, and Richie drops his gaze down in surprise. Surgeon’s hands, obviously.

“It’s nice to meet you. You’re our botany guy, right?” Eddie’s asking.

“Yes,” Richie says faintly. The world comes back to him all at once, except now it’s centered around Eddie’s wide eyes and timid smiles. “Hey, tell me, Doc—you got a cure for a broken heart? Because I’m sure as hell gonna need it after I watch you walk away tonight.”

Eddie _ scowls_, and god, Richie’s world tilts all over again. If Richie weren’t so aware of his heartbeat in his throat, he’d be almost certain that he was cradling it in his hands, one step away from offering it right here and now to Eddie.

Then Eddie opens his mouth and asks Ben and Beverly, “Is this sexual harassment? Do I report this?” and Richie chokes back his surprised laughter.

Beverly smirks. “I’m afraid that’s just how Richie is, buddy. You’ll get used to it.”

Eddie turns up his nose. “How long have you known him for?”

“Oh, an hour or so,” Beverly says. Eddie makes an affronted noise that has everyone laughing, and the glare he shoots Richie is downright murderous when Richie starts laughing, too. Richie might honestly be halfway in love with this guy.

“Will you be like this the whole time?” Eddie asks.

Richie gives him a grin that he hopes comes off as charming. “Baby, you don’t even know.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**VIDEO LOG: SOL 58 - Tozier, R**

_ [Tozier sits on his bunk, hands clasped together and resting in his lap. From a speaker somewhere, _ Holding Out For A Hero _ is playing. Tozier hits his head against the wall and groans loudly.] _

“Eddie my love, this is definitely better than NKOTB, but not by much. I know I have no room to judge, since the majority of my data-stick is filled with comedy sketches. But this? Sweetheart, you and Ben must have conspired to kill me. That has to be the only reason. Fuck starving to death, I’m going to die by overrated 80s pop.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**VIDEO LOG: SOL 62 - Tozier, R**

_ [The camera captures Tozier tending to his plants on the farm. He’s squatted in front of a sprout, examining the leaves. He’s singing under his breath, surprisingly on key.] _

“He’s gotta be strong, and he’s gotta be fast, and he’s gotta be fresh from the fight…”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 65 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ So remember a few sols ago when I was being dramatic and said something along the lines of, “I’m on a planet that’s going to kill me?” _

_ Well. That’s no longer an active threat. I’ve made enough water to take care of my plants. I’m not about to blow up the Hab again. I have potato sprouts! No aliens have arisen from red rocks to murder me, and Eddie’s music might actually be starting to grow on me. _

_ I’ve got to start thinking long-term. _

_ The thing is, NASA’s already scheduled the next mission to Mars. Ares IV, four years away, scheduled to land at the Schiaparelli Crater. Getting to that mission site is my best hope for making it off this planet. Problem is, even if I get there, NASA doesn’t know I’m alive. So I have to a) find a way to tell NASA that one of their astronauts is still kicking it on the red planet and b) find a way to travel 3,200 kilometers to the Crater. _

_ I know what you’re thinking_—"_Richie, don’t you have the Rover? You can use that to get there, right?” _

_ Well, friends. You are partially correct! See, the Rover is designed for short distance drives. My Martian golf cart is going to poop out after 35 kilometers, after that it has to be taken back to the Hab to be recharged. Not to mention, the Rover’s top speed is 25kph. I know, I know. Might as well call me a Martian NASCAR driver. _

_ Here’s a comprehensive list of everything I have to figure out: _

  * _How to portably charge the Rover so I can go away from the Hab_
  * _How to survive in the Rover for 50ish sols (how long it’ll take to reach the Crater), how to preserve food, how to maintain life support, etc._
  * _How to navigate the Rover through tumultuous terrain_
  * _How to not FREEZE TO DEATH in the Rover_
  * _Let’s not forget: somehow get in contact with NASA so that all of this extra shit I’ve been doing is worth it_

_ I have… a few ideas on how to make the Rover a mini Hab that I can survive in. So far, no brilliant ideas on how to talk to NASA. Might go back to my ‘stand on a rock and scream at the general direction of earth’ idea again. _

_ Well. In the face of overwhelming odds, there’s only one thing I can really do. _

_ I’m gonna have to science the _ _ shit_ _ out of this. _

* * *

Richie plops down heavy on the red sand. He’s drenched in sweat, his muscles hurt, and now all he has the energy to do is stare at an excessively large battery and the empty hull that used to hold it. Richie flinches slightly. “Sorry, Rover 2. RIP in peace and all that, little buddy.”

Across the way, the solar panels he needs to pull off gleam in the light and taunt him. Richie sighs. Sometimes he thinks this whole survival thing is not worth how much physical activity he has to do. Plus he still has to find a way to attach the stupid battery and solar panels to Rover 1.

Honestly, he’s starting to think that being a genius isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**VIDEO LOG: SOL 67 - Tozier, R**

_ [Tozier sits in front of the camera, half out of his EVA suit, looking exhausted. He closes his eyes and takes a heavy breath.] _

“So I took the battery from Rover 2. Managed to make some kind of makeshift harness to strap the battery and the solar panels to Rover 1. It looks like a crime scene but now I have twice the battery life as before, _ and _I have a portable way to charge the Rover. Next concern is finding a way to heat the thing. I realized pretty early in my calculations that using the heater in the Rover will drain my battery life. So those are my next goals. Make sure my DIY Hab-in-a-Rover works, and find a way to not freeze my balls off.”

_ [Tozier sighs again. He shakes his head.] _

“Tonight, though? Tonight I’m done. I deserve to sleep in. I deserve a full ration. I deserve…”

_ [He trails off. Whatever he was going to say, he shakes it off and stands to turn off the camera.] _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 69 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ I’ve been on Mars for a long time. I’d say I’m pretty familiar with the place by now. But… I don’t know. Maybe it’s getting the Rover ready for our drive that’s making me realize I am completely alone here. Mars is a barren wasteland, an environment extremely different from where I grew up, and it’s just me. Just me. _

_ There’s a difference between knowing I’m alone and experiencing it. _

_ Anyway. I’m typing this as I’m en route to the RTG. What’s the RTG, you might ask? _

_ Welcome to Science with Richie Tozier, everyone. Sit tight, because today we’re gonna talk about the Radioisotope Thermoelectric Generator. Big words, right? Well, the RTG is just a big box of plutonium. _

_ No, this isn’t the stuff they use in nuclear bombs. This is a lot worse. _

_ In our training, there was, like, a week-long lesson that was called, “Please Don’t Dig Up The Dangerous Box of Plutonium, Richie…” But hey, who ever said I paid attention in class? _

_ Anyway. That’s where I’m going now. To dig up the dangerous box of plutonium. As soon as we got here, Uris and Marsh fucked off to go bury this thing and plant a flag so we wouldn’t be stupid enough to accidentally go near it. I can practically hear the whole crew telling me I’m a goddamn moron. Hell, I can practically hear _ _ NASA _ _ telling me not to even think about it. _

_ But if I’m careful, I won’t break it. And if I don’t break it, everything will _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 70 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ Can you believe I almost said “everything will be fine”?!?!?! I mean, what the fuck, Richard? Your unchecked optimism is excessively out of character. If only Hanscom could see you now. _

_ I’m still in the Rover. I estimate I’ll arrive at the RTG site tomorrow. I’m moving slower than I could be because I’m using the heater at night while I drive. This won’t be a problem once I have the RTG, of course. I’ll be back at the Hab by Sol 72. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 70 [Cont., text] - Tozier, R**

_ FUCK. DAMNIT. I CAN’T BELIEVE I FORGOT TO MAKE A JOKE ABOUT SOL 69. WHO EVEN AM I?!?! _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**VIDEO LOG: SOL 71 - Tozier, R**

_ [Tozier is in the Rover. His EVA suit is open and his shirt is off, and he is dripping with sweat. He grins from ear to ear, though, and even has some music playing through a small speaker.] _

“I’m not cold anymore! Yippee-kay-yay, motherfucker. No, we are not going to focus on the fact that I’m warm because there’s a decaying radioactive isotope riding shotgun with me, but hey. I’ve turned a new leaf. I’m a positive dude now. Focus on the bright side or whatever the fuck, right? Besides. I have bigger problems to deal with right now.”

_ [Leaning forward, Tozier turns up his music. _ Hungry Like the Wolf _ plays through the speakers, and Tozier rolls his eyes, long-suffering.] _

“I think Eddie’s music might actually be growing on me.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**VIDEO LOG: SOL 79 - Tozier, R**

_ [Tozier is recording from his farm. He kneels down in the dirt and gently digs up the first of many plants. A fully grown potato comes out of the soil. Tozier stares at it, seemingly in shock, until a proud grin spreads across his face. He looks up at the camera and shows off the potato.] _

“It’s been forty-five sols since I planted my potatoes, which means today I finally get to dig them up. I gotta say… Christ. They grew even better than I expected. God, I feel like a proud father. Fuck. _ Fuck_. I fucking love botany, dude. I’ll have about 400 healthy potato plants. The larger ones will be my meals, and I’ll replant the smaller ones to keep the cycle going. Can you believe it? All-natural, organic, Martian-grown potatoes. That’s not something you hear very often, is it?”

_ [He trails off, and his gaze drops down to his plants. He touches his hand to another plant.] _

“I solved the starvation thing. So now… now I need to get in contact with NASA. Or, or… god, the _ Hermes_. Fuck. God, I’d give anything to talk to the crew. To… to.”

_ [Tozier swallows thickly. He digs his fingers into the soil and rolls his eyes.] _

“Fuck this. If anyone actually gets the chance to watch these, and if anyone’s been paying attention at all, you already know who I wish I could talk to.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[FEBRUARY 2036, EARTH]**

“He’s on the move again,” Mindy Park calls from her computer. Venkat spills a bit of coffee in his haste to put his mug down and hurry over to her screen. He stares at it hard, like if he looks long enough he’ll get the answers he wants.

“Where the hell is he going?” he asks. Mindy shrugs. “He hasn’t left the Hab since he got back from his little trip to the RTG site. He’s completely off course for Ares IV, too…”

Mindy sips at her own coffee. “Maybe he’s trying to avoid an obstacle?” she suggests.

Venkat scoffs. “It’s Acidalia Planitia. The flattest terrain on Mars. There’s nothing out there but—”

He sucks in a sharp breath. Mindy turns to look at him, but he’s already darting away. She stands to follow him. “I need a map!” he calls down the hall.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 92 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ I’ve been on the move for eleven sols now, but if my calculations are correct I should be nearing Pathfinder soon. It’s been a shockingly unremarkable drive so far. Lots of rocks. Lots of red dirt. _

_ Yesterday I went for a walk after I set the solar panels up. The Rover gets cramped, not to mention it fucking reeks since I have to store my piss and shit. Literally. I didn’t stray too far from the Rover because I’m fucking terrified to lose sight of the little guy, but I needed to take those steps. _

_ It’s a strange feeling, to be honest. Everywhere I go, I’m the first. The first guy to step on that rock in Ares Vallis, the first guy to drive through the Hamelin crater, the first guy to kick that rock that’s been in the same place for a million years. I’m the first guy to drive long-distance on Mars. First to make water. First guy to grow actual crops in Martian soil. _

_ I’m the first person to be alone on an entire planet. _

_ I miss my fucking crew. Sometimes I can’t believe I lived a whole life without them. I’ve only known them two years, which doesn’t feel possible. Once we all made it home, I was certain we’d still all be friends. ‘Go out to bars, order each other’s drinks, laugh about our time in space, crash on each other’s couches’ friends. I lucked out. Those stupid bastards are the greatest people I’ve ever met. _

_ There’s a lot I’d say to them if I could, you know? _

_ Hell. Maybe I’ll tell them in these logs. Someone will find them eventually, right? _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**VIDEO LOG: SOL 92 [Cont., video] - Tozier, R**

“I fucking found it! I found that hunk of junk that was half-buried under the sand and I fucking _ conquered _navigating Mars! Fuck you, Mars! Fuck you and all the times you tried to kill me. I told you I’m making it off this planet, eat my ass. I’m a goddamn genius.”

_ [Tozier’s grin, though obviously pleased, is slightly maniacal.] _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**VIDEO LOG: SOL 103 - Tozier, R**

“So I’ve made it back to the Hab, I’ve unloaded Pathfinder, and I’m getting started on seeing if any repairs could be made. Turns out it was not the easy fix of pressing a button or two like I had hoped it would be.”

_ [Tozier shrugs his shoulders, an over-dramatic gesture.] _

“I’m no Mike, but I think I know how to fix it. I’ll take a better look at it tomorrow. Tonight, though, I’m gonna run around in circles in the Hab and enjoy the fact that I can wave my arms above my head. My back is still fucking killing me. Would you believe me if I said that the crewmate I miss most right now is Eddie? He’d know how to fix my back.”

_ [The smile that Tozier gives the camera is slightly self-deprecating. He twists in his chair and grunts when his back pops.] _

“He’d be giving me a ton of shit though. ‘Why didn’t you do your stretching exercises, Richie? You have to take better care of your body, asshole, you’re an astronaut for god’s sake. Please eat a vegetable.’ Well, jokes on you, Eddie-Spaghetti. Vegetables are _ all _I’m eating.”

_ [Tozier flinches suddenly, for no discernible reason. His gaze drops to the ground and he draws a shaky breath.] _

“God. How hopeless do I sound, guys? Send your answers via the comment section down below.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[FEBRUARY 2036, EARTH - SOL 105, MARS]**

“Kaspbrak, you gotta get out of this room, man. Come do a workout with Ben and me.”

Eddie doesn’t look away from the ceiling. “No.”

He can hear Mike sigh and shuffle further into the room. “Eddie,” Mike says gently. Eddie hates his kind voice and his sympathetic eyes so he doesn’t look, because if he looks, he’s just going to get pissed off and sad all over again. “It’s not good holing yourself up in here.”

  
“Better in my bunk than in Richie’s though, right?” Eddie asks. “I’m _ fine_, Mike. I just don’t want to do a workout with you guys because I hate the treadmill. That’s like, the worst form of exercise you can do anyway. It fucks up your knees, man. You guys would be better off doing yoga.”

Mike is quiet for a moment before he asks, “Come do yoga with us, then.”

Eddie closes his eyes. His throat feels tight again. “No,” he repeats.

“You know, I can’t even walk by his room,” Mike admits. “Like, it’s the door right next to mine, and I freeze up every time I go by it. It feels… wrong, you know? That he’s not in there. I hate passing by his chair. By his work station.”

“Yeah,” Eddie croaks out. Mike puts a hand on Eddie’s ankle and squeezes. Eddie supposes it’s meant to be reassuring.

“We all miss him, buddy,” Mike says, not unkindly. “We’re all trying our best.”

Eddie opens his eyes and raises his head to look at Ben. “Hanlon, no offense, but I _ guarantee _ that what you guys are feeling is nothing like what I’m feeling. I love you all, but seriously, I’m not in the same place as you guys. I’m not ever going to be in the same place.”

“Eddie,” Mike says again.

“I’m gonna go to sleep,” Eddie mutters, and he turns on his side.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 106 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ I had all these hopes that when I woke up today, the lander would be working, but I’m not that lucky apparently. The antenna is still in the same place. And I need that antenna to move. If that antenna moves, then it means Pathfinder has woken up, and is trying to make contact with Earth. If it makes contact, it’s probably going to be with either the Deep Space Network or SETI, but they’d pass the message along to JPL which is who I’ll be able to communicate with once the lander is up and moving. _

_ So, I need that antenna to move. I need it pointed towards Earth so I can know that they know. _

_ God, I hope that _

  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 106 [Cont., text] - Tozier, R**

_ HOLY SHIT THEY KNOW I’M ALIVE! HOLY_ _ SHIT! _

_ I thought I heard the machine whirring so I ran outside to check, and the fucking antenna was moving! RIGHT TOWARDS EARTH, BABY! THEY KNOW I’M ALIVE! _

  
  
  
  
  
  


PATHFINDER LOG: SOL 0

BOOT SEQUENCE INITIATED

TIME 00:00:00

LOSS OF POWER DETECTED. TIME/DATE UNRELIABLE

LOADING OS

OPERATING SYSTEM PERFORMING HARDWARE CHECK:

INT. TEMPERATURE: -34C

EXT. TEMPERATURE: NONFUNCTIONAL

BATTERY: FULL

HIGAIN: OK

LOGAIN: OK

WIND SENSOR: NONFUNCTIONAL

METEOROLOGY: NONFUNCTIONAL

IMAGER: OK

ROVER RAMP: NONFUNCTIONAL

SOLAR A: NONFUNCTIONAL

SOLAR B: NONFUNCTIONAL

SOLAR C: NONFUNCTIONAL

HARDWARE CHECK COMPLETE

REBOOT COMPLETE

BROADCASTING STATUS:

LISTENING FOR TELEMETRY SIGNAL… 

LISTENING FOR TELEMETRY SIGNAL…

LISTENING FOR TELEMETRY SIGNAL…

  
  
  
  


**SIGNAL ACQUIRED…**

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**[MARCH 2036, EARTH]**

“Anything come up yet, Tim?”

“Oh, of course. We’re just staring at this black screen instead because it’s far more far more fascinating than pictures from Mars.”

Venkat rolls his eyes. “You’re a smart-ass, Tim.”

Tim responds, “I’ll make sure to include it in my notes.”

Across the way, Tim’s boss Bruce Ng drops his head against his desk and groans. “Venkat, I swear I’ll fire him.”

“No, no,” Venkat says mildly. “I appreciate his acerbic wit. It’s keeping me awake.”

“Incoming,” Tim announces. Venkat and Bruce both trip over their own feet in their haste to get to Tim’s computer station. After another moment, the connection completes and an image starts to fill the screen, filling from left to right one stripe at a time. Relieved cheers replace tense silence, and Venkat claps a hand on Bruce’s shoulder as he grins.

“Martian surface…” Venkat says. Red dirt and rock slowly fill the screen. “More Martian surface…”

Bruce lets out a small shout and points at the screen. “That’s the edge of the Hab!”

Venkat grins. “Hab…” he confirms. He doesn’t take his eyes off of the image. “More Hab now… more Hab… Is that—holy shit, I think that’s a message!”

A handwritten note posted to a metal rod appears on the screen.

“Holy fuck, what does it say?” someone from the back of the room calls.

Venkat squints and leans closer, adjusting his glasses. “It says, ‘I’ll write messages here. Are you receiving?’ Hell yes, we’re receiving, Tozier! How does he want us to… There, he put up two more signs. One for yes, one for no.” Venkat lets out a relieved, disbelieving laugh. “Tim, point the camera at yes!”

Tim leans forward. “Thirty-two minute round trip communication time, you guys know that, right? And all he can ask are yes or no questions, _ and _all we can do is point the camera. Conversation could end up quite dull.”

“Tim,” Bruce sighs. “I _ swear _to god.”

“Roger that. Pointing the camera.”

Venkat closes his eyes and leans back. The relief is short-lived, and the realization that what comes next will be much more difficult settles in on his shoulders like he’s carrying the weight of the world.

He supposes, in a way, he is. It’s his job to get Richie Tozier home safe, and the whole world is counting on him to do it.

He straightens up. “Start with yes. Then we take pictures every ten minutes until he puts the next question up.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**VIDEO LOG: SOL 106 [Cont., video] - Tozier, R**

  
  


_ [Tozier throws his hands up in the air, thrilled expression on his face. His voice is raised and ecstatic.] _

“They said yes! Jesus H. Christ, they said _ yes_! The last time I was this excited about a yes was when I got Eddie to agree to do karaoke with me—I promise you, that was a _ reason _ to be excited—and before that it was, like probably when I got my acceptance letter to CalTech. Holy shit, I can’t believe it. Okay, I need to chill.”

_ [Tozier leans back in his chair again. It’s clear that he is not chill.] _

“I have to figure out how to have complex conversations, using a still-frame camera… from 1996. Limiting myself to yes or no questions once every half hour may damn well kill me, which would be a terrible way to go considering I’m alone on a planet and there’s a thousand cooler ways I could go. Anyway.”

_ [Tozier stares off into space, clearly trying to recover his train of thought.] _

“Right. Okay, so, luckily the camera can rotate a full three-sixty, so I could make an alphabet. It can’t be our alphabet, because the margins are too narrow, so I’d have no way of knowing exactly what letter they’re pointing to. Thank god Stanley Uris is an uber nerd and keeps a copy of the ASCII table on his laptop. Hexadecimals to the rescue! Wait, sorry, I have to tease Stan some more.”

_ [He leans forward, a wicked glint in his eyes.] _

“You sad bastard. Your laptop was, like, a shrine to loneliness. There’s an almanac for birds on there, dude. Afraid you’ll forget about the flying fucks if you’re away from their planet too long?”

_ [Tozier laughs to himself.] _

“Okay. Enough dicking around, I’ll get back to the science now. With the ASCII table, I’ll make cards for numbers zero through nine, and letters A through F. That’s seventeen cards, including the question mark, and margins of over twenty-one degrees each. They can ask me questions now, too. I can write my answers on the cards we were supposed to use to label batches of samples. Bam! Complex conversations with old as fuck technology. God, I’m so excited. Shit, Uris. Your nerdiness rubbed off on me.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[0902, Acidalia Planitia]**

H… O… W… A… L… I… V… E… ?

**[0935, Acidalia Planitia]**

_ Impaled by antenna from array. Knocked out during impact. Blood sealed hole, woke up after crew left. Surviving with rationed food packs and crops. Crew had reason to believe me dead. _ _ Not their fault _ _ . _

**[1009, Acidalia Planitia]**

C… R… O… P… S… ?

**[1042, Acidalia Planitia]**

_ Long story. Botanist powers. Growing potatoes on 126m2 farmland inside Hab. Extended food supply but will not last until Ares IV. _

**[1117, Acidalia Planitia]**

B… R… I… N… G… P… T… H… F… N… D… R… O… U… T… 

**[1150, Acidalia Planitia]**

_ Rover brought out. Signal better? Need faster communication. _

**[1224, Acidalia Planitia]**

W… R… K…. N… G… O… N… I… T

**[1259, Acidalia Planitia]**

_ Roger. Resume 0800 my time tomorrow morning. Tell family I’m fine. Give crew my love. Tell Hanscom NKOTB sucks. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**VIDEO LOG: SOL 107 - Tozier, R**

“I have never in my life been this excited to talk to people. God, I woke up this morning like a kid on Christmas waiting for oh-eight-hundred to roll around. They sent me a long-ass complicated message. You know what, I’m gonna show you, just so you can see how much fun I had deciphering.”

_ [After a moment of shuffling around, Tozier holds a notepad up to the camera. Written in his messy scrawl reads: _

LNCHhexiditONRVRCMP,OPENFILE-/usr/lib/habcomm.so-SCROLLTILIDXONLFTIS:2AAE5,OVRWRT141BYTSWTHDATAWE’LLSNDNXTMSG.

_ Tozier is scowling when he pulls the notebook away.] _

“Yeah, reading that made me hate the fuck out of scrawny, eighteen-year-old me who would have done fuck-anything to be an astronaut. Welcome to a life of migraines, buddy. Anyway. I’ll break it down for you. They basically sent me instructions on how to hack Rover 2 so it can talk to Pathfinder, and if I do it correctly, we can type back and forth instead of communicating by pictures. I’m getting ready to head to the Rover now. I… I needed a second. You know, I thought that when I finally established contact with earth, there’d be a lot of cheering. I’d be running around screaming and waving my arms and maybe even praying to Saint Jude for helping me stay alive this far. But truthfully? After I got those instructions back, I came into the Hab and took of my EVA suit and sat right down in the middle of my plants and just… burst into tears. Bawled like I was eight years old again.”

_ [Tozier smiles sheepishly at the camera. When he leans forward again, the red tint in his eyes is noticeable. He gets choked up again.] _

“I don’t know. Guess I thought it was too crazy to think I’d survive. Now it’s a real possibility. It’s… a lot. Fuck, I hope it fucking works”

_ [He lets out a big sigh and shakes his head. After a moment, a grimace crosses his expression.] _

“Shit. I should probably figure out how to delete some of these video logs.”

* * *

The air feels tight and tense in a way Richie can’t contribute to the Martian atmosphere as he sits in the Rover waiting for anything to happen. It took him a few times to pull up the right program, fingers shaking as he typed, but he followed NASA’s instructions exactly and now all he can do is wait.

He taps his fingers impatiently against the armrest. He’s been entirely alone on a planet for over one hundred sols, he’s been playing the waiting game for longer than he can even comprehend, but now it seems unbearable. Somewhere on earth, there’s a bunch of nerds huddled around a computer working their asses off to establish faster communication with him, and Richie is desperate for it. God, he’s desperate for a chance to talk to someone, _ anyone_.

Text pops up on the screen.

**[1118] JPL: ** ** _Tozier, this is Venkat Kapoor, Director of the Mars Mission. We have been watching you since Sol 49. The whole world has been rooting for you._ **

**[1118] JPL: ** ** _Amazing job finding and repairing Pathfinder. We’re working on your rescue plan._ **

**[1119] JPL: ** ** _Meantime, we’re putting together a supply mission to keep you fed until Ares IV arrives._ **

Richie’s throat constricts as he reads the message. Each new letter that appeared caused something to well up inside of him, and by the time the last message finishes he’s choking back sobs. He blinks and tears fall hot and heavy out of his eyes. He reads the message once, twice, a hundred times until he can close his eyes and see the words imprinted there, and then he reads them again until he has them memorized.

He cries, loudly and without shame, on a planet where he is entirely alone, and for the first time in one hundred sols he doesn’t feel lonely.

**[1129] TOZIER: ** ** _Glad to hear it. I’m really looking forward to not dying._ **

Richie wipes at his eyes, feeling a little bit childish at how hard he’s crying, then he leans forward again. Curiosity gets the best of him.

**[1130] TOZIER: ** ** _How’s the crew? What did they say when they found out I’m alive? Tell them it wasn’t their fault. Also, “Hi, Mom!” Let’s pretend I said that first._ **

Another hysteric laugh almost breaks free. Richie lifts his shirt to clean his face. He’s reluctant to take his eyes off the screen, scared that he’ll miss something if he looks away, or worse—that he’ll look back and see a blank screen. Part of him is still hesitant to accept that this isn’t a hallucination brought on by malnutrition and a lack of sleep. Richie resolves himself to an early-ish bedtime tonight, just to be safe.

**[1141] JPL: ** ** _We want to know more about your “crops”. Our estimations are that your food packs will last until Sol 450 at 3⁄4 ration per meal. How do the “crops” affect this number?_ **

**[1141] JPL: ** ** _As to your question, we haven’t told the crew you’re alive yet. We need them to concentrate on their mission._ **

Richie’s jaw drops. In a second, his relieved mood is replaced with burning anger. He’s certain this is a prank, that in a few minutes another message will come from Kapoor that reads, _ “Sike! You should have seen your face! Look up, we’re here to rescue you right now!” _but nothing else comes. Richie leans forward again.

**[1152] TOZIER: ** ** _What the fuck?? They don’t know I’m alive? What the fuck is wrong with you??? Tell them I’m alive!_ **

Too late, he realizes he ignored their questions. He finds that he doesn’t really care.

**[1204] JPL: ** ** _Richie, please watch your language. Everything you type is broadcast live all over the world._ **

Richie scoffs. “Oh, yeah?” he asks. He narrows his eyes and leans forward again. Watch his fucking language, are they kidding? Richie’s best friends in the world still think he’s fucking dead. God, he wonders if they even told his parents. He fucking hopes so, if this shit is being _ broadcast all over the world_. Richie scowls harder and hits the keys angrily. 

**[1215] TOZIER: ** ** _Oh, eat my ass you bureaucratic chucklefuck!_ **

**[1215] TOZIER: ** ** _LOOK! A PAIR OF BOOBS! -> ( . Y . )_ **

**[1215] TOZIER: ...** ** _Sorry, Ma._ **

**[1216] TOZIER: ** ** _TELL THE FUCKING CREW I’M ALIVE!!!_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> captain's log:  
holy SHIT you guys i already can't believe the response i'm getting to this story. to say i'm blown away is, honestly, an understatement. i love all of you. like holy shit. thank you for indulging the MOST self-indulgent thing i have ever written.  
the good news is, i have a significant chunk of this written, and the next few updates planned out, but i might* actually get this whole thing finished way sooner than i expected. *MIGHT, because i am still (unfortunately) a grown up with many dumb things to do, but hey, let's be optimistic.
> 
> as always, anything you recognize comes from andy weir (read the book) and drew goddard (watch the movie) (yes i will say this every time i love both of them and i've watched and read them both countless times you can't stop me). thank god andy weir took the time to all of the science-y bits because so much of this goes right on over my head.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) i'm so sorry in advance

**[MAY 2035, EARTH]**

“You guys are fucking crazy if you think I’m gonna do karaoke,” Eddie snaps.

Bill snorts into his drink. Around the table, Beverly and Ben do their rounds of encouraging speeches and baiting remarks. Eddie crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “I’m serious!” he insists. “I’m not fucking doing it! I’m an astronaut, for god’s sake, I have _ some _ dignity.”

“You guys, you guys,” Richie calls, waving his hands, and all eyes turn to him. “Eddie’s right, give him a break. He has to keep his dignity intact somehow, I mean, god, those red shorts are barely doing it for him.”

Beverly lets out a loud cackle that has everyone else dissolving into giggles. Eddie glares half-heartedly, put out by Richie’s lack of seriousness. “Fuck you, bro.”

Richie gives him an exaggerated wink. “Fuck you!”

“This is rousing, truly,” Stan says dryly, “but is anyone actually going to sing? Whose idea was it anyway to take us all out to a karaoke bar before we take off? Karaoke is just as anxiety-inducing as being launched into space in a tin can.”

“Oh, where’s your spirit of adventure?” Beverly asks. She extends a hand to Ben and tugs him to his feet. “Hanscom and I will get this party started.”

Ben stumbles over his own feet in his haste to stay behind Beverly. “We will?” he asks.

Beverly winks at him.

Richie leans over until his shoulder is pressed against Eddie’s. There’s warmth there, and a spark that goes straight into Richie’s blood stream, but he decides to account it to the alcohol coursing through him. “Think those two will ever get their shit together?” he asks in a low whisper.

Eddie looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “Who? Ben and Beverly?”

“No, the cocktail waitress and the girl playing the piano that keep making eyes at each other,” Richie mutters. “_Yes, _Ben and Beverly, who else do I care about?”

Next to them, Stan lets out an amused snort. Richie glares at him. “This is a private conversation, Staniel.”

Stan gives him a withering look that immediately has Richie snapping his mouth shut. “Do not get me started on watching two people pine for each other, Richie, I will crush you into the ground so fast, man.”

Richie narrows his eyes. Stan looks pointedly at Eddie, who looks between the two of them in confusion, and Richie’s cheeks flush against his will.

“Guys, they’re starting,” Mike murmurs, pointing to the stage, and everyone settles into their seats. 

The opening notes to _ Truth Hurts _ start to play through the venue, and around the table there’s various groans and cheers for a song that was once popular when they were in their 20s. Richie throws his hands in the air and lets out a wolf-whistle, and next to him even Eddie cracks a smile. Ben’s painfully awkward on stage, the way everyone who does karaoke should be, but Beverly is charismatic and warms him up by dancing around him and keeping him laughing. They’re magnetic to watch, despite the off-key singing and awkward shimmying, and everyone in the bar is cheering them on. Richie leans over onto Eddie’s chair again. At this point, he’s not sure he can blame the alcohol.

“See what I mean?” Richie murmurs. “They’re dancing around each other. Literally, in this case, but seriously. The chemistry is there, man.”

The corner of Eddie’s lips are lifted into a smile. Richie wants to press his thumb there, memorize the feeling of Eddie’s mouth, know what it feels like as it moves. He blinks heavily, and Eddie says, “They won’t do anything about it. Commander Marsh is extremely dedicated to the mission, and Ben’s too afraid of disappointing her. Even if there are feelings there… they’d both wait until the end of the mission to do anything about it.”

Richie can’t look away from Eddie’s mouth. He’s sure he must be obvious, but then Eddie’s leaning into him and Richie’s intoxicated by it. He swallows thickly. “You don’t think they could make it work during the mission?”

“I think it’s dangerous,” Eddie admits. “It could risk everything.”

“Could be worth it,” Richie argues quietly. “If they were happy.”

Eddie looks right at him, and Richie’s certain he’s been turned into a neon sign. He must be screaming, bright and illuminated, lit up by nothing more than Eddie’s gaze falling on him. He’s doomed, he realizes now, to an eternity of loving this man more than he can comprehend.

“Could be,” Eddie repeats, and hope blossoms in Richie’s mouth.

“Yeah,” Richie breathes.

Next to them, Bill lets out a cat-call that startles Richie and drags his attention back to the stage. Ben and Beverly wrap up their song, both shamelessly hopping around the stage and failing to sing any of the words on time at this point, and Richie claps to cheer them on, feeling lucky that he gets to know these people at all.

Eddie leans forward, still close enough that his shoulder brushes against Richie’s. “So,” he whispers, “what song are we gonna sing for our duet?”

A startled laugh breaks out of Richie. “We? Eds, are you telling me that I’m actually going to be able to get you up on that stage to sing a song with me?”

“Don’t let it go to your head, it’s mostly the alcohol talking,” Eddie says, poking at Richie’s cheek and giving him a soft smile when Richie laughs, startled, again. “Get up there and choose something for us before I change my mind, huh?”

Richie resists the urge to reach out and take Eddie’s hand in his own.

He chooses the song while another couple gets up, singing a terrible rendition of some song he can’t even name. Eddie presses against his side when he sits down, getting increasingly agitated by Richie’s refusal to tell him what they’ll be singing. His finger pokes at Richie’s cheek once again and Richie’s blood ignites.

“I promise you know it,” Richie stammers out, knocking Eddie’s hand away.

Eddie’s hand drops to Richie’s knee, squeezing it. “I fucking hate you,” he says seriously, but Richie doesn’t believe him at all.

Their turn comes, and Eddie’s hand doesn’t stray far from Richie’s arm, Richie’s back, Richie’s hands as they stumble up towards the stage. Richie is afraid to breathe, afraid that if he moves too hard it’ll shatter this illusion where Eddie can’t keep his hands to himself. The opening notes for _ Don’t You (Forget About Me) _start to play, and Eddie groans and laughs and the heat of it is enough to keep Richie warm for months. He has the half-hysterical thought that he could give NASA back all the hoodies and t-shirts they gave him to take up, because he won’t need them if Eddie keeps touching him like this.

“I fucking love this song,” Eddie tells him, grinning bright and wide. Richie desperately feels like he has to memorize it.

“Yeah, ‘cause you like cliche crap,” Richie shoots back.

“Oh, you’re such a John Bender. Shut up and sing with me,” Eddie snaps, handing off a mic and raising it just in time to catch the first line.

Richie is gobsmacked, he feels altered, something in his DNA has rewired as he takes Eddie in tonight. He feels selfish as he drinks in the vibrancy of this version of Eddie, loose and happy and still, startlingly, the same sarcastic guy he always is. Eddie is a terrible singer and this is a terrible song to dance to, but he is enrapturing to watch, regardless of it all.

He points to Richie when it’s his turn to sing, and the words thankfully come automatically. Richie loses his thoughts when, in a fit of bravery, he reaches out and grabs Eddie’s extended hand, forcing him to spin in a circle. The microphone captures the tail-end of Eddie’s startled laugh, and it’s so loud and bright that it washes out the sound of Richie’s singing.

They scream in each other’s faces along with the _ ‘hey, hey, hey, heys! _’ and Richie is certain that he’ll remember tonight far longer than he’ll live. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[SOL 108, MARS - MARCH 2036, EARTH]**

“Commander?” Hanlon’s voice calls over the radio. Beverly blinks heavily to draw her gaze away from the window, and shifts over to the console, keying in her passcode.

“Go ahead,” she says.

Static crackles for a moment before Hanlon’s voice sounds again, informing her, “Data dump is almost complete. Should be done by the time you make it down here.”

She finishes the job she was supposed to be doing before she got distracted staring out of the window and nods to herself, saving the work and logging out again. “Copy. I’ll be there in just a sec. Everyone else already on their way?”

“Affirmative.”

Beverly floats out of the work area, towards the Semicone-A ladder that leads to the Rec Room. Denbrough is already halfway down.

“You’re in a hurry,” she comments.

“My nieces turned three yesterday,” Bill tells her in voice that barely contains his excitement. “George p-p-promised he’d send some pictures of the party, said it was space-themed in honor of their f-favorite uncle.”

“You sure they even remember you?” Beverly teases. Bill’s only response is a small chuckle.

Beverly grabs onto the ladder as the centripetal force starts to kick in, sliding down with practiced ease. Everyone else is already in the Rec Room by the time she lands. Everyone is already huddled behind Mike, waiting for the data dump to complete, except for Eddie, who sits by the window with his knees drawn up to his chest as he looks across the stars.

On her way past, Beverly ruffles his hair and says gently, “Data dump. Let’s go, Kaspbrak.”

Eddie doesn’t say a word as he gets up on his feet.

“There’s a batch of personals,” Mike says, fingers flying across the keys. “Dispatching them to your laptops now. I don’t need to see Stan’s weird bird pictures from his wife.”

“Fuck you,” Stan says, elbowing Mike.

Mike smirks. “Okay, let’s see… system update, I’ll take care of that. There’s a statement from Madam President for Marsh, very exciting. And… huh. It looks like there’s a video message addressed to the whole crew.”

Beverly does a quick headcount to make sure everyone is in fact in front of her before she tells Mike to go forward. She hesitates, as she always does, when she only reaches the number six. It’s been four months but it still feels strange that they’re all moving on without Richie there beside them. There’s a pang in her chest as she says softly to Mike, “Go ahead and play it.” 

Mike opens the file. The video is frozen on a picture of Mitch Henderson, the flight director for the _ Hermes_. Dread fills Beverly’s stomach immediately. A direct message from the man in charge of their mission can’t mean anything good.

Mike presses play.

In the video, Mitch Henderson sighs and scrubs at his face before he talks. His gaze is sad when he looks into the camera. “_Hermes, this is Mitch Henderson. I apologize that, for some of you, this is the first time I’ve ever greeted you. I have… I have some news. I’m afraid there’s no subtle way to put this._”

Beverly leans forward. Her mind races with all the possibilities, anything that would warrant a direct message from Henderson. They’ve already scrapped the mission, and they’re still months out from landing.

Henderson’s shoulders droop. His gaze is steady. “_Richard Tozier is still alive._”

The tablet that Ben is holding clatters to the ground loudly.

“That's impossible,” Stanley whispers.

In the video, Henderson continues, “_I know this will come as a surprise. And I’m sure you all have a lot of questions. It is our priority to make sure you get the answers you need. For now, however, I can give you the basics._”

“N-no,” Bill gasps.

“_He’s alive and he’s healthy. We found out around Sol 49 and decided not to tell you. Let me make it clear that I was strongly against that decision. We’re telling you now because we’ve finally established communication with Richie and are in the process of establishing a viable rescue plan_.”

Ben’s shoulders are shaking. “Jesus Christ,” he murmurs.

Mike covers his mouth with his hands.

“_We’ll send a full write-up of everything that’s happened, but it wasn’t your fault. Richie stresses this every time it comes up. It was just bad luck, and it wasn’t your fault. Take some time to absorb this. Your schedules have been cleared for tomorrow. Send us any questions you have and I’ll get the answers back to you. Okay. Henderson out._”

The video ends and closes out on its own. The room is filled with stunned silence.

Beverly’s hands are trembling.

“He… he’s _ alive_?” Bill asks, desperate for confirmation. Mike’s hands drop to the keyboard again, like he’s going to pull up the message just to watch it and be sure. Like there’s anything else Henderson could have said that sounds similar to _ Richard Tozier is still alive._

Stanley lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Stubborn bastard,” he says. His voice shakes and tears stream down his face. “He would be the one to beat the odds. God, that’s just like him.”

“Tozier lives,” Ben adds.

“Holy shit,” Mike murmurs. Like Stan, he’s not able to hold his tears back. He laughs, a small and surprised thing that seems to burst out of his chest. “He’s alive. Guys, he’s _ alive_!”

Beverly doesn’t look away from the screen. “I left him behind,” she says quietly.

Ben’s gaze snaps up to her. Immediately, his relieved grin is replaced with concern. His shoulders are still shaking as he reaches towards her.

“We all l-l-left,” Bill reminds her. “Together.”

“On my orders,” she snaps. She pulls her wrist out of Ben’s grip. “You were following orders. I’m the one who left him behind. I left him, completely alone, on a barren, unreachable, _ godforsaken wasteland_.”

Mike opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.

Stan’s gaze shifts from her to Eddie. Eddie, Beverly realizes, has been silent this entire time. Her eyes snap to him as well.

“Eddie?” Stan asks. He takes a step towards Eddie, but Eddie flinches away. He looks right at Beverly, looking heartbroken and betrayed. His gaze says more to her than any words could in that moment.

“Eddie,” she starts to say, but the words get caught in her throat when his lip starts to quiver.

He swallows thickly and shakes his head, a tiny, imperceptible movement. Then he turns on his heels and runs off the bridge.

* * *

Ben finds Eddie in the medbay, but that isn’t much of a surprise.

The whole crew has picked up on Eddie’s tendency to hide out here. Ever since they returned to the _ Hermes_, Eddie has found sanctuary in this corner of the ship. If Ben were a licensed therapist, he’s sure he would have a few opinions as to why Eddie chose this location.

Still, something in his heart pangs when he takes in Eddie curled up in a chair next to a porthole, staring into bottomless space. His expression is carefully void of any emotion.

Ben thinks Eddie might be taking this news about Richie the hardest.

“Hey, buddy,” he says gently. Eddie doesn’t flinch or look away from the window. There’s an open notebook and a pen and a cup of cold coffee on the desk next to him that Ben is certain Eddie forgot about. “Did you try to crack the window and get frozen here?”

It’s a tender mercy, Ben thinks desperately, when Eddie almost cracks a smile.

“How are you holding up?” he finally asks.

Eddie lets out a noise that’s somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. He doesn’t look away from the window. He looks impossibly small like this, in his NASA-appointed jogger pants and NASA-approved hoodie, folded in on himself. Ben wishes he would have brought a blanket to cover Eddie’s shoulders.

“I’m not,” he says softly.

Ben kneels down next to Eddie’s chair and reaches out, grasping their hands together and holding tight. He can feel it when Eddie shudders against him. This has been unbearable for all of them, unimaginable in more ways than Ben can even begin to comprehend—but Richie and Eddie had a relationship that wasn’t like the others. Eddie must have mourned him differently than the rest of them did.

“Neither am I,” Ben admits, but it isn’t encompassing enough.

Eddie gives him a sad smile.

Realization dawns on Ben suddenly—hot and quick, like a slap across the face. Ben’s expression goes slack. The way that Eddie had screamed and pleaded on the day they left. Eddie crying so fiercely the crew had no choice but to sedate him when they finally boarded the _ Hermes_. Eddie walking around the _ Hermes _for the last few months, a ghost of a man, lingering by the doorway to Richie’s room and Richie’s workstation. His insistence that he was the only one who could touch Richie’s work on board, his hesitancy to leave the medbay when he wasn’t working or forced to eat with the crew. The hurt look he gave Beverly before he disappeared from the bridge. Ben has known what it is like to long for someone unattainable, and he has felt how cold it is to realize that the thing you want will never be yours. He thought that loving someone from afar was unbearable.

But Eddie…

“You love him, don’t you?” Ben whispers. Eddie finally looks him in the eye. “You’re in love with Richie.”

It’s a testament to what Eddie must be going through that he doesn’t immediately scoff or quip back with a snide remark. He just… _ looks _at Ben, and somehow that’s enough.

“Holy shit,” Ben says.

Eddie lets out a slow breath. “Nothing gets passed you, does it, Haystack?” he says, and they both flinch at the use of Richie’s nickname for Ben. “Fuck. Sorry. I… I fucking _ miss _him.”

Ben squeezes his hands again. “Me, too,” Ben murmurs. A ghost of a smile teases his mouth, and somewhere Richie must be throwing his hands up and cheering him on because Ben can’t stop himself from teasing, “Not as much as you do, apparently, but hey—”

“Oh, fuck off,” Eddie says automatically. He blinks, like he’s surprised it slipped out. It’s a glimpse of Eddie before everything went to shit on Sol 7.

“There he is,” Ben says with a grin. “I’ve been missing you, too, Eds.”

Eddie lets out a breath so deep, Ben is half-convinced he’s been holding it for four months. Eddie’s eyes fill with tears but he doesn’t look away from Ben, now almost desperately clinging to Ben’s hands. “He’s gonna survive, right?” Eddie asks.

“I came here to ask you that exact question, Doc,” Ben says. “But hell, Eddie, if anyone could do it…”

“It would be Richie,” Eddie finishes.

Ben nods and squeezes Eddie’s hands again.

The room falls quiet, and Eddie lifts his gaze to stare out the window some more. They aren’t on the right side of the _ Hermes _to see it, but Ben wonders if he’s looking for Mars. Since they found out, Ben’s found himself looking back more often than he cares to admit.

“NASA is letting us write to him,” Ben finally says. “Bev is trying to write something out now. Do you want—”

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath. He squeezes his eyes closed, and Ben’s heart swoops guiltily for even bringing it up. “I can’t,” Eddie whispers. “Not yet. Ben, I… I can’t, okay?”

Unsure what else to do, Ben stands and pulls Eddie into a hug. He doesn’t say anything when Eddie starts to cry into the fabric of his shirt, clinging tightly and giving no indication that he’ll stop soon. He holds on tightly and murmurs, “I know, Eds. I’m sorry. I know… I’m so sorry.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 109 [Text, encrypted] - Tozier, R**

_ Dear Eds, _

_ This one is just for you, buddy. God knows if you’ll ever actually see this, but I’m gonna write it down for posterity’s sake. Maybe it’s cathartic, I don’t know. None of that matters. For the first time since I woke up on Sol 7, I actually feel hopeful that I’m gonna make it off this planet alive. _

_ I’ve got to. There’s something I need to tell you. _

_ Pretty sure I’m in love with you. And by pretty sure, I mean there’s no goddamn question about it. You’re the constellation of my eye or whatever other cheesy metaphor you wanna apply here. I put my heart on a rocket and you’re carrying it with you back to Earth. _

_ So, uh. Yeah. I’m gonna survive. And you better fucking survive too because I’m gonna be pissed if I make it home and you aren’t there. _

_ I miss you. God, I miss you so goddamn much. Don’t tell the others. _

_ Love, (and god almighty do I mean love) _

_ Rich _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 114 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ Now that NASA can talk to me, they won’t shut the fuck up. _

_ “Give us constant updates on the Hab, Richie. Are you drinking enough water, Richie? Tell us what your plants look like, Richie.” I don’t need a room full of nerds trying to micromanage my crops. I can handle my shit. _

_ Not to sound arrogant or anything, but I am the best botanist on the planet. So… _

_ My greatest pleasure these days is telling these dudes to fuck off. Seriously. I’m pretty sure I give someone an aneurysm every time I say the word ‘fuck’. It’s like being thirteen and learning you can say curse words for the first time all over again. I’m goddamn giddy with it. _

_ In other exciting news, NASA has also given back… email! It’s like I’m back on the _ Hermes _ after all this time. I’ve gotten emails from rock stars, famous athletes, politicians, even Madam President, which was pretty cool. My favorite was the one from my mom and dad, though. I cried like a baby. Like, if I had the ability to print stuff up here, that shit would be posted all over the Hab. I’m a grown-ass man, I have a thriving career, and I launched myself into literal space in a rocketship, but hell if reading a letter from my mom didn’t make me want to crawl into her arms and just bawl for hours. _

_ So. I’m the first man to completely have a meltdown about his mommy on Mars. In your face, Neil Armstrong. _

_ Well, NASA and the PR people have requested that I pose for a picture on the next transmission. Fuck knows why, it’s not like they can see my ugly mug. But hey, this is giving me another chance to screw with these guys, so who am I to turn that down? _

_ Still not sure what pose I’ll do. Something that’ll tick off the PR people down on Earth. I’ll keep you posted. _

* * *

The only thing that keeps Richie from bolting the second that the Pathfinder camera starts to move is the fact that he is going to fuck with NASA. The whole “pictures of him alive, alone, on Mars being released to the public” thing is freaking him the hell out.

Truthfully, the only thing keeping him from bolting is the crew. Sooner or later, NASA’s going to tell them that he’s alive, and there’s a high possibility this picture might be forwarded onto them. If he isn’t in front of that camera, looking healthy and stable and alive, he knows that they’ll just blame themselves more.

Richie plants his feet firmly into the ground and reminds himself that the camera probably won’t even be able to see his face.

He has half a mind to just stand there and let the picture be taken, but an image of Eddie bathed in shitty neon lights crosses his mind at the last second, and a manic grin spreads across Richie’s face. Before the image takes, he raises his right fist up into the air and…

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[MARCH 2036, EARTH]**

“Can someone tell me what the fuck this is supposed to be?” Annie says tiredly. She slides the photo across the conference table towards Mitch Henderson and Teddy Sanders. Teddy picks the photo up and holds it so that both Venkat and Bruce can see from their screens.

Bruce snorts out a laugh. “It looks like—”

“I know what it looks like,” Annie snaps. “I ask for a picture and he gives me goddamn… John Bender? Is he living _ The Breakfast Club _ out there?”  
  


“_I wanna be an airborne ranger_,” Mitch hums under his breath. Annie shoots him a withering glare. “Oh, come on, Annie, you have to admit it’s a little funny. The guy is completely isolated out there. Can’t we cut him some slack for having a little fun?”

Annie frowns. “It won’t work. People will start comparing NASA to Richard Vernon, is that what you want? I need something less John Hughes and more… Richie’s face.”

Venkat nods his head back and forth on screen. He leans forward and says, “Well, Annie, I’d be happy to tell him to take his helmet off so you can get a picture of his face, but I’m worried that he might not last all that long.”

Annie huffs.

“We can use the photo, Annie, and let’s release it when we detail the rescue operation. I think it’s time we start discussing the announcement that we’ll be launching some supplies to him next year. Bruce, are things looking on schedule over at JPL?” Teddy asks.

Bruce nods. “It’s going to be tight. But I promise we will make it, sir.”

Teddy leans back in his seat. “Nine-month travel time for the probe to get there. That puts us at… what, Sol 868? Have we heard back from the Botany Team on their analysis?”

“Botanists estimate that Richie’s crops will last until about Sol 912. They grudgingly admit that Richie is doing great work.”

Mitch chuckles. “Grudgingly?”

With a smirk, Venkat chimes in, “Richie’s favorite comeback to anyone who tries to question his decisions is ‘go fuck yourself’.”

“Get him in line, Venkat, please,” Teddy sighs. “This is a nightmare. These margins are so slim… I don’t like it. His crops last till 912, we get his supplies there on 868… That doesn’t leave us a lot of time. And that’s assuming that nothing goes wrong…”

Annie looks at him, resigned. “Don’t jinx it,” she warns.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 122 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ The water reclaimer is on the fritz. _

_ I’m pretty sure it’s just the crops. Humidity in the Hab is a lot higher than what the Hab was designed for, so the water reclaimer is losing its shit trying to filter the crap in the air. _

_ When I mentioned this to the nerds at NASA, they pretty much lost their shit. Apparently water is critical to me surviving on this planet. They can’t even handle the IDEA of equipment failure. I’m like, guys, what the fuck do you think I’ve been putting up with for over a hundred sols? _

_ At least I’m getting my steps in walking back and forth from the Rover and the Hab. The nerds in NASA’s conference room keep sending me instructions for “solutions” and I have to report back. It’s not electronic, it isn’t the refrigeration system, instrumentation is fine, and the temperature is normal. Let me tell you how excited I am to wait another four hours for the nerds to tell me to duct tape a hole. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 123 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ So I’m a brilliant scientist, right? A planet-renowned botanist, if you will. Which is why I feel confident saying that I’m 98% sure that the problem with the water reclaimer is just a plumbing issue. Yeah, yeah, I’m not a trained plumber, but I know how pipes work. _

_ Allow me to summarize my most recent conversation with the geniuses at NASA: _

_ Me: “I’m pretty sure that the pipes are just clogged. Can I just take it apart and check the internal tubing?” _

_ NASA, five hours later: “No. You will screw it up and die.” _

_ Me: “That’s nice. I’m gonna do it anyway, though. Hey, while I’m dismantling it, does anyone want to remind me how to wipe my own ass?” _

_ So anyway. I’m gonna go dismantle the water reclaimer. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**VIDEO LOG: SOL 123 [Cont., video] - Tozier, R**

_ [Tozier has a smug look from where he’s seated in front of the camera. He clasps his hands behind his head and tilts back in his chair, looking very much like the cat that just got the canary.] _

“Got a special treat for you today. I just fixed the water reclaimer, like I knew I could, and now it’s functioning at normal levels today. For your enjoyment purposes, I’m going to reenact the conversation between NASA and I once I told them what I’d done.”

_ [Tozier clears his throat and turns to the right in his chair.] _

“‘Hey, guys, remember when you told me not to touch the water reclaimer?’”

_ [He turns to the left. His expression turns apprehensive, and he mimes typing into a computer and whispering to imaginary people beside him before he replies to his own question, taking on a nasally voice that’s distinguishable from his own.] _

“‘Yes.’’

_ [He turns to the right and gives a sheepish shrug. His normal voice returns.] _

“‘Well, I took it apart, found the problem, and fixed it. Is that cool?’’

_ [Once again, he turns to the left. He gives the camera an exaggerated look of shock and anger. He mimes typing, whispers something indistinguishable angrily, and then puts his hands on his hips. He brings back the nasally voice.] _

“‘You’re a real jerk, you know that, Tozier?’”

_ [Tozier turns to face the camera again, laughing at himself.] _

“I guarantee now there’s a few guys at that Nerds’ Round Table who secretly hope that the Hab explodes and I go poof, but hey. NASA wanted people who were independent, people up here who could act on their own initiative. I have independence in spades. Lucky for me, since it’s been keeping me alive.”

_ [Tozier puffs out his lips and lets out a long, deep breath. He rolls his eyes before he speaks again.] _

“If Commander Marsh were here, of course I would have listened. I respect Marsh far too much to question her motives, no doubt about it. But bending over backwards to please a bunch of faceless bureaucratic clowns back on earth? That’s a little bit harder for me. Sorry, Ma, I guess I really do have a problem with authority.”

_ [Tozier folds his arms in his lap and sombers up quickly. He looks away from the camera.] _

“I probably should be a bit nicer. NASA gathered some of the best scientists on earth to come and help me, and I do feel a tiny bit guilty about calling them all dumbasses. But if the shoe fits… God, I don’t know. Maybe it’s just all sinking in. The last 31 sols have been fucking nuts, okay? I got Pathfinder. I’ve established communication with Earth. I dug up and replanted my plants, I’ve fixed a water reclaimer, and now I have a viable survival plan in place. It’s… a lot to wrap my head around. I thought I’d survive out of sheer stubbornness but now it’s looking like…”

_ [Tozier trails off. There’s an almost hopeful smile on his face, so small he might not even be aware he’s making it. His eyes, however, are looking somewhere thousands of miles away.] _

“I might actually fucking survive.”

* * *

Richie whistles the tune to _ Footloose _ under his breath as he steps into Airlock 1, closing the door tightly behind him and beginning the depressurization process. While the system does it’s job, he’s struck suddenly by an almost hysterical picture of Eddie in a velvet-red suit, dancing in a barn somewhere. The thought of it draws a startled laugh from somewhere deep in his ribcage. He makes a mental note to tell Eddie about it, maybe even when they get to talk. NASA’s been teasing that the _ Hermes _ might reach out soon.

He tries not to think about it too much, knowing that if he dwells on what he hopes will happen, it will distract him from the work he needs to get done here to survive. He knows, logically, it’ll be Commander Marsh to reach out first. He hopes he gets a chance to talk to all of them soon. God, he can’t wait until he gets to see them again. He’ll cry and tell them all that they’re his best friends and he won’t even care if they tease him for it.

Richie is in the middle of plotting out his first email back to the _ Hermes _when the airlock jolts violently. He looks up right as the airlock canvas rips clean in two.

He doesn’t even have time to scream; the automated voice rings out, “_Pressure Malfunction_” but it’s lost beneath the resounding boom that fills the air as the Hab breaches and launches the airlock forty meters through the air.

Richie gasps for breath as he’s slammed against wall to wall, unable to gather his bearings. He hits something face-first, and can feel it when his faceplate shatters, but he still doesn’t have time to scream as the airlock hits the ground and starts to roll. He tumbles from side to side, frantically trying to grab something to hold on to, until the airlock finally comes to a stop and he hits the ground one last time.

He sucks in a frantic breath, but the action makes an alarm on his suit go off at the same time that pain explodes through his body. Richie’s eyes fly open and his blood freezes when he realizes his faceplate is cracked. “Fuck, _ fuck!_” he screams. He tries to sit up and bites back another scream as the pain in his shoulder flares up again. Faintly, he can feel blood trickling down his face as well.

“_Oxygen level critical,_” rings out the automated voice from his suit. “_Suit breach detected_.”

“No fucking shit!” Richie shrieks hysterically. Fear claws its way through his bloodstream, making a mess of his nerves and his muscles until he’s shaking so hard he can barely reach for his toolkit. On his biomonitor, the oxygen levels and pressure levels make his stomach drop to his toes. Over one hundred sols survived on a barren wasteland, and he’s going to die of an oxygen breach. The hissing noise from his suit rings in his ears. “Holy shit, oh my god.”

He tears off a piece of duct tape and frantically presses it against the largest crack in his faceplate. His biomonitor continues to beep at him. “Fuck, fuck, _ fucking fuck_, I know, I know!” he cries. He wills his hands to stop shaking as he desperately tears off another piece.

“_Oxygen level at eight percent._”

His hand slips, and he presses the tape down in a spot that doesn’t need fixing. Tears fall hot and heavy from his eyes and he bites his lip to keep from screaming again. “Come on, come fucking on—”

He secures another piece of tape on one of the larger cracks. He’s down to two more—

“_Oxygen level at five percent._”

Richie tries not to gasp for breath, desperate to preserve what little air he has left in the suit. He shakes so hard that he tears a piece of tape too large but he uses it to cover the crack anyway. One more left, _ don’t fucking cry, Tozier, you can’t fucking lose it right now, you have to fucking fight _—

With one final scream, he tapes the last crack on his faceplate and falls backward right as the alarm stops blaring and settles into a regulated pace. Without it, Richie finally registers the buzzing in his ears that must be a result of the explosion.

“_Suit pressure stable. Oxygen levels stabilizing._”

Desperately, he sucks in gasp after gasp of air. He’s faintly aware that he’s sobbing, though he can’t tell if it’s from the pain of his whole body feeling shattered or if it’s a result of all the adrenaline leaving his system once he placed that final piece of tape. He’s still bleeding from the head, and he’s certain that his shoulder is dislocated. His whole body is bruised, but no ribs feel broken. He gasps sharply as he staggers first to his knees, then eventually to his feet.

Then, Richie catches a glimpse outside the window of the airlock, and his heart bottoms out.

“No,” he chokes out. “Please god, no.”

He has to fight against the door of the airlock to get it open, fighting back another wave of tears each time he has to slam his shoulder into it. It’s another pain-filled trek as he stumbles towards the Hab—his body aches with every step but the panic that seizes his lungs is somehow harder to manage.

Richie enters the Hab through the tear from the airlock. He keeps his eyes down as he stumbles towards the bunks, too afraid of what he might see if he raises his gaze. He finds the spare EVA suits and grabs one from the top, as well as a new helmet. Now, with no mission to distract him, Richie can’t help himself from looking up to assess the damage.

There’s nothing untouched in the Hab. Everything is overturned, thrown to the side, messed up. Everything he carefully organized during his first few sols here is now in a pile on the ground. Somehow, all of it seems irrelevant when he finally catches a glimpse of the farm.

It’s all ruined.

His crops are desolate. A thin layer of frost covers what used to be green and vibrant. There’s a thick lump in his throat as he falls to his knees and reaches forward to touch the leaf of the plant nearest to him.

The leaf crumbles between his fingers.

He’s numb as he stands again, collecting the EVA suit he’d dropped, and he slowly leaves the Hab and stumbles his way to the Rover. It’s not a permanent solution, but the Rover can depressurize and will keep him breathing while he shrugs out of his suit. He can assess the damage to his body, switch out his now-faulty EVA suit for the spare that used to belong to Hanlon, and figure out what his next steps will be.

By the time he makes it to the Rover, however, and by the time it successfully depressurizes and Richie is able to shrug off his helmet, he doesn’t do any of the things he had planned to do. He collapses in his seat and looks at the blank communication screen in front of him. The Hab is breached, his plants are gone, and communications with NASA are down. Adrenaline starts to fade fast, and pain starts to settle between his bones.

But all Richie can think about is Sol 49, and that tiny little sprout he saw sticking out of the ground. His head drops, and he brings his hands up to cover his face as he starts to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> captain's log:  
again, i'm sorry! but if you've seen the movie (you should watch it if you haven't) or read the book (pls read it) then you knew this was coming. but i'm still sorry. if it makes you feel better i literally had to go lay down after i wrote this part. um. ANYWAY. did i mention this story is angsty?  
the response i've gotten so far is blowing my mind, i genuinely can't believe it but i'm so THRILLED to see everyone enjoying it. i love all your comments and watching you all anticipate what comes next. i hope it continues to be worth it!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is. kind of heavy, so please take care while reading. warnings ahead of time for some implied suicidal ideation as the reality of his situation starts to sink in on richie. i promise the angst will let up eventually.

**[MARCH 2036, EARTH]**

Venkat came bursting into the room, Annie and Mitch hot on his heels. “What the fuck happened?” he barks at Mindy, who scrambles to her feet.

“We think the Hab breached,” she says quickly. Tim pulls up the images from Mars. Taken only a few minutes apart, one image shows the Hab perfectly intact, and the next shows Airlock 1 removed a good forty or so yards from the Hab. There’s no sign of Tozier in the images.

“Shit,” Annie breathes. “Are these the most recent ones?”

Tim sighs loudly and clicks to the next image, which doesn’t look much different from the second one. There’s two more pictures exactly like it.

“Any communication with Tozier?” Mitch demands.

“Pathfinder communicates through the Hab, if the Hab is offline then he has no way to get messages to us,” Mindy says quietly. She picks at a hangnail and doesn’t look away from the images. “He’ll have to get the Hab back to function before he can communicate.”

Tim mutters, “If he’s still alive.”

Venkat pinches the bridge of his nose. “Tim, I know Bruce isn’t here to threaten to fire you, but I still have authority over you. Keep your comments to yourself.”

“Copy that.”

Mitch swears loudly under his breath. “Do we have any idea what could have caused a breach?”

“The Hab was only designed for thirty-one sols,” Venkat says. “It’s been a hundred and twenty seven. There had to have been natural wear and tear. Tozier uses Airlock 1 almost daily…”

“Aren’t there two other airlocks he could enter in and out of, though?” Annie asks.

Mitch points to a section of the Hab on the screen. “Airlock 1 is closest to the rover charging station. Easiest point of access in and out. He was most likely using that one multiple times a day, every day.”

“The canvas probably tore,” Mindy realizes.

“Depressurization causes the airlock to shrink,” Venkat agreed. “Pressurization, it expands. If there was a tear in the canvas…”

“Then it was only a matter of time before it tore in two,” Annie summarizes. Everyone looks at her. “I don’t need a scientific degree to understand natural wear and tear. Does this mean that Richie was in the airlock when it blew? So it’s possible he was suited up?”

Venkat looks at the images again. The computer chimes with an alert that a new image is in, but it’s the same as the others that have come in recently. He lets out a deep breath. “Let’s hope to any god you believe in that that’s the case.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 128 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ I’m still alive. _

_ I don’t have much to say. I have a lot of work to get done today. First thing I did was line up rocks near the rover to spell out “A-OK’ so NASA can know I’m still alive. I won’t have communications until I get the Hab back intact. _

_ I have to seal the hole caused by the breach. Make sure the Hab can repressurize again. I have to restore the Hab’s functions. Check on the water reclaimer, check on the oxygen. Take stock of my potatoes. _

_ Figure out how the fuck I’m going to survive now. _

_ I… I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. I don’t… _

  
  
  
  
  


**[SOL 133, MARS - MARCH 2036, EARTH]**

“_There was a breach in the Hab_,” Stan reads off screen. The Rec Room is silent, no one breathing, and it feels suffocating as Stan gives them the news. “_Tozier was in his EVA suit in the airlock when the canvas tore and blew the airlock off the Hab. He is still alive, though he won’t disclose the extent of his injuries._”

Someone huffs, but when Stan glances up, he can’t tell who it was. He knows they’re all thinking the same thing—at least that _ sounds _like the Richie they know.

“_The crops are dead_,” Stan continues. No one says anything when his voice breaks, but he clears his throat anyway. Tears threaten to well in his eyes and he blinks them away. “_Complete loss of pressure boiled off most of the water. Any bacteria that survived that would have died in the sub-zero temperatures when exposed to Mars’ atmosphere. His crops are dead, but the potatoes he already grew are still useable. We estimate they will last him an additional 200 sols… We are adjusting the supply launch plan. We will keep you updated. Signed, Henderson_.”

Stan leans back in his seat. There isn’t a single sound in the room once he concludes his message.

Horrifyingly, Stan had almost started to believe that Richie was actually going to make it off Mars. The guilt of leaving him beside had started to subside, replaced by an uncontainable hope that Richie was smart enough to make it work. It’s a setback that he should have suspected, if he hadn’t let himself get so comfortable with just _ believing_…

“Fuck,” Mike breathes out, and the tension in the room breaks.

Bill covers his face with his hands, and Ben wraps an arm around his shoulders when he starts to shake. Closest to Stan, Mike extends a hand and refuses to drop it until Stan reaches out and intertwines their fingers. Somehow, this news feels almost as shocking as finding out Richie was alive in the first place.

“Two hundred sols?” Beverly asks. Her knees are pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around herself.

“And his food packs will last him until Sol 459, with how they have him rationing,” Stan offers.

Mike squeezes Stan’s fingers tightly. Stan isn’t sure who it’s meant to comfort. “So with his potatoes, he’s fed until Sol 659.”

“Which means that he’ll be long dead by Sol 868,” Eddie summarizes. Five pairs of eyes snap to him in surprise. Only the slight wobble of his lip gives any indication that something is wrong—his face is drawn, determined. He looks as though he’s preparing for something.

Ben clears his throat. “Henderson said they were going to adjust the timeline for the supply launch.”

Eddie sits forward. “Hanscom, look at the math. It’s Sol 133 now. Supply trips are, what four-hundred and fourteen days? Plus two weeks to mount the boosters and perform inspections. That gives them… less than one hundred days to _ build _the supply probe.”

“How do you know so much about the supply probe process, Kaspbrak?” Mike asks.

“The supply probe process is what was going to keep us alive, asshole, if you think I wasn’t going to research the fuck out of it and find out everything that _ could _ go wrong, you don’t fucking know me,” Eddie snaps. It’s so startlingly _ Eddie _ that for a moment, all Stan can do is fight back a laugh.

Then, he can’t fight it back anymore, and the giggles start pouring out of him.

He leans forward, gasping for breath between the laughter, clutching his stomach. He laughs so hard that tears start to collect in the corners of his eyes. He’s missed this, he realizes suddenly, he’s missed the normal erratic behaviors of his crew. None of them have been the same since they reboarded the Hermes five months ago. Especially Eddie, who has been a shell of the person he used to be.

“What’s so fucking funny, dickwad?” Eddie demands, and Stan gasps again as a new wave of laughter takes over.

He’s sure the whole crew is staring at him like he’s lost his marbles, but eventually he can feel it when Mike starts to laugh next to him, too. Quiet laughs and a huge grin. Stan’s heart aches at being able to see it again.

Then Bill is snorting out a laugh too, and Beverly’s giggle rings out, and Ben is smiling and his shoulders shake with silent laughter, and eventually the pinched look on Eddie’s face is replaced by something relieved and amused. Stan can’t remember the last time they all laughed like this. He’s positive, though, that whenever it was, it was because of something Richie did.

“Sorry, sorry,” Stan gasps out. “I’m sorry. Clearly this isn’t funny. It’s just… I _ missed _you guys.”

Ben’s voice is gentle as he chimes in, “I’ve missed you guys too. I know we’re all here but… we haven’t been here. It hasn’t been the same.”

“How could it be?” Eddie asks, but his expression is still soft. “How could anything be the same without Richie here?”

“We haven’t been ourselves,” Beverly says. All eyes turn to her, a natural result of her being their commander, but also out of instinct. Self-preservation. Stan believes that they would have deferred to her even if she hadn’t been appointed in charge. “We probably never will be those people again. And _ when _we get Richie back, he won’t be the same, either.”

There’s no room to question her—she means it. The hopelessness Stan had felt when he first received Henderson’s mission report is now replaced, evaporated by full belief in Beverly’s conviction that Richie will return.

“We need to write to him,” Beverly says. She looks right at Stan. “Henderson said we could do that, right? I think it’s time. I think… he needs us.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Stan sees Eddie tense up. “I can’t,” he says quickly, words coming out in one frantic huff of air. “I can’t, guys, I _ can’t_—”

Ben stands quickly and pulls Eddie up into a hug. Everyone watches, silent, as Eddie shakes in his arms. Stan can’t quite hear what Eddie says next, but he does hear Ben repeat, over and over, “It’s okay, Eddie, you don’t have to.”

“I can write it,” Stan says quietly. “He’s… It should be me. I can do it.”

Beverly looks back at him. “It can be me,” she tells him gently. “I am his commander.”

“And you’ve been shouldering the blame for this ever since we took off in the MAV,” Stan counters. “The last thing he needs right now is to feel like he has to reassure us that it wasn’t our fault. Commander, with all due respect, you're not the person he needs to hear from first.”

“Stan,” Mike chastises.

But Beverly just smiles. “Copy that, Uris. Hanlon, reach out to Henderson and get us set up to communicate with Richie. Let’s give our boy the help he needs right now.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 135 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ It’s been a while since I’ve updated. Guess nearly dying really takes the fun out of wanting to write messages to empty space. _

_ I have the Hab back to full function. I covered the hole from the airlock blast with extra Hab canvas. Secured it with duct tape. Secured it A LOT with duct tape. The canvas is holding, and pressure is restored in the Hab. I try not to think about how my life is being held together literally by tape and glue. I just… have to trust my handiwork. _

_ The Hab is cleaned up. I’ve cleared out everything from the farm, safely stored my potatoes, put everything back in its original rightful place. You couldn’t even tell there used to be fully functioning crops on Mars. Who cares anyway, right? Potatoes are extinct on this planet now. Who needs the reminder. _

_ JPL is completing the supply booster sooner than planned. They say they cut the timeline down significantly after… _

_ Fuck. I can barely think about it, fuck it. _

_ They have to finish the probe in less than half the time it normally takes to get it to me in time, so clearly everything is just super fucked since I blew up the Hab. Awesome. _

_ I don’t have... I don’t know what to fucking say. I can’t be optimistic about this, I’m sorry. Ben, I really tried. I tried, buddy, to be the optimistic guy and I really fucking thought I was gonna survive. Now I don’t fucking know. _

_ Guess this log will be fun to analyze in history classes a few years from now, if you ever get to see them! Sorry. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[0732] HERMES: ** ** _Dear Richie. NASA is finally letting us communicate with you now. Can you believe I drew the short straw? Just my luck. Sorry that we left you on Mars. More sorry that you had to find out we just don’t like you the hard way. _ **

**[0733] HERMES: ** ** _It’s a lot roomier on the Hermes without you. There’s actually space to walk without your long limbs tripping everybody everywhere._ **

**[0735] HERMES: ** ** _Kaspbrak has been taking care of your tasks since you aren’t here to do it, but don’t worry, he hasn’t complained much. It’s only botany, that’s not real science. How’s Mars? Love, Stan._ **

**[0745] TOZIER: ** ** _Dear Stan the Man, Mars is fine. I’m sure NASA told you since they’re finally allowing me to talk to my friends, but I accidentally blew up the Hab. Unfortunately, all of Ben’s NKOTB music survived. Tell Eddie that his semi-decent basic pop music taste is the only thing getting me through._ **

**[0745] TOZIER: ** ** _How’s the Hermes and everyone? I bet you all feel cramped and claustrophobic. I wake up every morning and watch the sun rise over the vast horizons just because I can. I bet you hate that I get to do that and you don’t, huh buddy?_ **

**[0746] TOZIER: ** ** _Don’t let Eddie kill my plants. I need them, okay? And tell everyone I miss them. Don’t sugarcoat it either, I’m giving you full permission to embarrass me. I miss you guys and I say hello._ **

**[0747] TOZIER: ** ** _I love you guys. Even you, Stanley Urine._ **

**[0758] HERMES: ** ** _I’ll tell them, and because I’m such a nice friend, I won’t even embarrass you. We’ll take care of your plants._ **

**[0759] HERMES: ** ** _We love you too, Richie. Over and out._ **

**[0810] TOZIER: ** ** _Nerd._ **

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[1001] TOZIER: ** ** _How’s my care package coming along?_ **

**[1016] JPL: ** ** _Supply launch is scheduled for Sol 188. It’ll get to you before you starve, but it will be tight. We apologize that we can’t get better margins. In addition, we won’t be able to send anything other than the food and the radio._ **

**[1031] TOZIER: ** ** _Won’t hear me complaining. I just need the food. Hab is back to full capacity, I’m good with oxygen so long as we don’t breach again, and I’ve got plenty of water without the crops to selfishly need it now._ **

**[1044] JPL: ** ** _That’s excellent news. Keep us updated on any further issues._ **

**[1052] TOZIER: ** ** _Hey, how frowned upon would it be if I did a rescue mission for Oppy? She deserves a rescue mission._ **

**[1121] JPL: ** ** _Unfortunately a rescue mission for the Opportunity Rover would not be plausible, Richie. You would not be able to carry her with you to the Schiaparelli Crater nor would you be able to take her back to the Hermes. We appreciate your loyalties, however._ **

**[1135] TOZIER: ** ** _SHE’S A NATIONAL HERO, KAPOOR SHE DESERVES IT._ **

**[1144] JPL: ** ** _We don’t disagree with you, Richie._ **

**[1144] JPL: ** ** _I can offer you the name of the probe we’re sending to you, however. We’ve decided to call her “Iris”._ **

**[1154] TOZIER: ** ** _After the Goo Goo Dolls song??_ **

**[1203] JPL: ** ** _Named after the Greek goddess who traveled the heavens with the speed of wind._ **

**[1203] JPL: ** ** _Among other things, she was also the goddess of rainbows._ **

**[1215] TOZIER: ** ** _Gay space probe coming to save the gay astronaut. That’s fucking legendary. I approve._ **

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 157 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ I just came out to the whole world on a nationally-broadcasted communication systems with a joke about a “gay probe”. _

_ Can we say on brand or what? _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 168 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ So I’m playing a waiting game. It’s up to people back on earth to make sure that everything goes well. After a billion sols up here being completely independent, it’s kind of nerve-wracking knowing there’s absolutely nothing I can do up here to help what’s going on down there. _

_ All I do now is listen to the wind hitting my duct tape wall and count and recount potatoes. _

_ I miss sound. It’s a fucking vacuum in space, but it’s worse because there’s literally nothing else up here to make noise. I miss Bill’s snores. Guy was a freight train. I miss Mike humming in the mornings, every morning, because he was always the first to get up. I miss the sound of Eddie literally falling out of bed every morning because he’s completely incoherent without coffee first. I didn’t think that was a real thing until I met him. _

_ I’d give anything to hear something other than the beeping of the Hab systems all the time. It feels like a constant reminder that I’m basically living on borrowed time. I’m sick of the echo of my own voice. _

_ Hell, I’d kill to hear the nerds at NASA talk. Just anything that wasn’t me or the Hab or the wind or the rustling of my duct tape wall that terrifies me every time I hear it. Anything. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 180 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ The launch is eight sols away and I’m super fucking nervous for it. _

_ It’s probably a good thing that they limited my rations, because I barely have an appetite anyway. Except for now they want to limit my rations even more, which I physically didn’t think was possible. _

_ Originally, it was supposed to be three ration packs per day. Then it went down to ONE ration pack every three days. Now they want me to cut that down another third too so that I don’t starve before the probe gets here. _

_ We’re cutting corners everywhere. Like, they bypassed the inspection stages on the probe to try and get it here sooner. They didn’t tell me, but I’m not a moron. When suddenly we can move the launch date up fourteen days, it’s not that hard to figure out what they cut down. _

_ My point is, this is a real dick-punch. And I’m so fucking sick of potatoes I could scream. _

  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 188 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ Launch day! I’m so sick my heart might actually give out. _

_ People on earth everywhere will be able to watch and listen as NASA gets Iris launched into orbit, but I’m on fucking Mars and my only available communication is a robot from 1997. So I don’t get to hear or watch. Hell, even the _ Hermes _ gets to listen, what's THAT fair? _

_ I’ve been obsessively pouring over the calculations to make sure they add up. It’s not that I don’t trust NASA’s best and brightest—it’s just that NASA’s best and brightest built a Hab canvas that tore and launched me forty meters through the air and broke one of my ribs. Excuse a guy for wanting to double check. _

_ I don’t know, I guess it’s kind of calming. Going back to the numbers. Keeps my head on straight. Gives me an objective to focus on. _

_ Well. There’s nothing I can do with the numbers now. I just have to sit here and stare at the vast empty space, maybe look towards the tiny blob that is Earth, and hope that NASA’s geniuses built a functioning probe. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[SOL 188, MARS - MAY 2036, EARTH]**

On Mike’s computer, the volume is turned up as loud as it can go.

Their transmission is delayed by two minutes, meaning that whatever is happening when they hear it has already come to pass. Eddie feels especially hopeless; there’s already nothing they can do, but the time delay really just adds to it.

They’re all crowded around Mike’s computer, but it’s Eddie that everyone lays a supporting hand on. He wonders if they all know, if they all figured it out the way Ben did, or if they just can tell he needs it a little bit more. He supposes it doesn’t matter. He knows he should just admit it to all of them.

Over the speakers, a voice rings out, “_This is the Flight Director. Begin launch status check._”

Beverly reaches out and grasps Eddie’s hand. Eddie thinks they might all be holding their breath.

“_This is Flight. We are go for launch on schedule._”

Eddie’s entire body is on fire.

“_10… 9… 8…_”

Next to him, Stan’s eyes slip closed and he murmurs, “May it be Your will, God, our God and the God of our fathers, that You should lead us in peace and direct our steps in peace…”

“_7… 6…_”

Ben’s breath hitches.

“_5… 4…_”

Bill’s hand drops onto Eddie’s shoulder, squeezing. It’s an anchor for both of them.

“_3… 2…_”

Mike wrings his hands together, fingers twitching like he wants to reach for the keys of his computer and do something.

“_1… Liftoff._”

Eddie lets out a breath of relief at the same time as everyone else, and he doesn’t even have time to draw in a second breath before Beverly is tugging him closer and throwing her arms around him. Bill and Ben embrace as Stan finishes his prayer, but Mike doesn’t look away from the computer.

There’s a moment of quiet from the audio clip.

Eddie’s heart starts to turn to ice as he realizes that Houston didn’t confirm successful takeoff.

“_Launch, what’s happening?_"

“_Probe is spinning on the long axis. 17 degree precession._”

Bill’s hands drop slowly. “Shit,” he breathes. “Shit, _ shit_.”

“_We’ve lost readings on the probe, Flight._”

Beverly shakes in Eddie’s arms. Both of them are too numb to let go.

“_Loss of signal, Flight._”

“_Same in Guidance._”

“_Same for telemetry._”

“No, _ no_!” Stan shouts.

“_SatCon?_”

“_No satellite acquisition of signal._”

“_Flight, US Destroyer Stockton reports debris falling from the sky._”

There’s a moment of quiet as Flight takes in the news. Eddie has a sudden, violent, visceral image of Mitch Henderson sitting at his desk, covering his face with his hands and trying not to cry. He imagines the rest of the world does the same.

“_Roger,_” says Henderson over the audio clip. “_GC, Flight. Lock the doors._”

The audio clip ends, closing itself out. The Rec Room is silent as the six people on board try to process what just happened. In their silence, the computer chimes with a message alert, almost definitely from Henderson. He knew they’d be listening in.

“Damnit,” Beverly whispers. “Damnit, _ damnit_, goddamnit!”

Eddie is unable to do anything else but hold her tightly as her whole body starts to shake.

  
  
  
  
  
  
**[0912] TOZIER: ** ** _How’d the launch go?_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> captain's log:  
hello again! this chapter is a little on the shorter side compared to the others but this was the natural break point (sorry... i'm sorry). also, if my calculations are correct, we're about halfway done with this! i'm estimating eight, maybe nine chapters total.  
i have a relatively easy week ahead, in preparation for me to skip town over next weekend, so i'm hoping to get one or two chapters up before my trip. thankfully my busy life is slowing down enough that i actually have time for things like writing and reading (yay!!).


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all of you last chapter: poor richie oh my god :(  
me, writing last chapter and sobbing: IM SORRY I DONT WANT TO HURT HIM :(((((((
> 
> me, writing this chapter: I PROMISE THE ANGST WILL LET UP SOON IT KIND OF DOES HERE BUT THIS WHOLE STORY IS A ROLLERCOASTER DONT GET COMFORTABLE IM SO SORRY I DONT KNOW WHAT IVE DONE

**LOG ENTRY: SOL 191 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ Dear Stan, _

_ Dr. Shields from NASA’s shrink bin says I need to write personal messages to everyone after… what’s happened. She says it’ll keep me “tethered to my humanity.” You know me best, so you know that I think that’s a sack of shit, but hey, it’s an order. _

_ I’ll take it if it means I get to talk to you guys more often. _

_ I’m gonna ask you because I know you’re the only one who will be real with me. How is everyone doing? Are they holding up okay? Are you guys safe? I know all of you better than I know myself. Bone of my bone or whatever the hell that verse was that I never really paid attention to. I miss you all like a phantom limb. I just want to know you’re all taking care of yourselves. _

_ Take care of them for me. Since I’m not there to. I’m asking you because you’re my best friend and I know you’ll believe me when I say I need you to take care of them. You’re my family so you have to take care of each other. _

  
  


_ Dear Mike, _

_ I’m sorry, man, but I have to tease you. You take this computer nerd thing to a whole new level. Its 2036, dude, why do you have every episode of the OG Star Trek on your data stick? You big dork. God, it’s so painfully YOU it makes me want to tackle you to the ground the next time I see you. _

_ Maybe I will anyway. I know you have, like, three inches on me but I bet I could still take you. Nerd. _

_ God, I miss you. I’d give anything to have your dulcet tones reading lines of code and putting me to sleep again. If Pathfinder could receive audio files, I’d probably ask you to record it and send it to me. I’d say don’t let that go to your head, but you’re the most humble guy I know and you probably wouldn’t anyway. How’s that fair? You’re hot AND humble? It’s too much, dude. _

_ Hey, I hacked the fuck out of Pathfinder which is why we’re able to communicate. I hope you’re proud! I mean that seriously, Mikey, I crave your validation. _

_ Hope I can see you soon. _

  
  


_ Dear Bill, _

_ Big Bill! How’s piloting space? I bet the views out there are amazing. _

_ I have a favor to ask of you. And I’m gonna ask you because it’s important and I know that you’re the only motherfucker on the Hermes that takes me seriously. Do I have your attention? Can I have your word you’ll follow through? _

_ When you get back to Earth… will you write the book about me? Make it compelling as fuck. Also, go ahead and lay it on thick that I was the hottest astronaut on Ares III, they’re gonna need that once they make a movie out of this. But dude, seriously, make sure the ending is good. If I have to read one more of your unfinished manuscripts with a shitty ending, I WILL punch you in the face. Consider this your warning, Big Bill. _

_ I miss you. _

  
  


_ Dear Ben, _

_ Hey, Haystack. You know, for all the nicknames I’ve given you guys, yours might actually be my favorite. It’s just fun. _

_ I hope you’re making sure everyone’s exercising out there. You’d be proud to know that the amount of physical labor I do out here on Mars is practically 100x the amount I used to do. Which is a lot, considering I barely did any before. Also, I’m eating my vegetables! Almost exclusively, but still. Aren’t you proud? _

_ Thanks for your unwavering optimism, dude. It’s hard to feel like shit when I have your voice in my ear reminding me (gently, softly) that my friends are out there hoping I survive. Your unbridled expectancy that things will turn out right has made me one hopeful fucker. _

_ I miss you, man. I miss you so much it’s almost gross. And I know reading that will probably make you cry because you’re literally the most sensitive person I’ve ever met and you love your friends just, like, an unbelievable amount, but fuck you because I’m maybe crying too so you’re fine. I miss you, Handsome Hanscom. _

_ Don’t let Eddie kill my plants, please. _

_ Also, Jesus, I wish I could send audio so I could just send you like. Twenty minutes of me screaming at the top of my lungs. Your music sucks. Holy shit. _

  
  


_ Dear Commander Beverly, _

_ I couldn’t decide how to start your letter so I panicked. Sorry. There is nothing but respect in that greeting though, just so you know. _

_ There’s a lot I want to say to you so your letter might just be the longest. I won’t apologize for that. First I just want to say that I need you to stop blaming yourself for my situation. _

_ It was an impossible scenario. You made the call any commander would have and should have made. And it was the _ _ right call _ _ . Any longer and the MAV would have tipped and everyone would have died. Because I’ve known you for two years and spent a long time by your side, I know you’ve already run through every possible outcome and wondered what you could have done differently. Bev, I’m here to tell ya, the only thing you could have done differently would have been to be psychic. _

_ You probably think that losing a crewman is the worst thing that could have possibly happened. It’s not true, Bev. Losing your whole crew is worse. Trust me on that. Thank god you kept that from happening. _

_ I’m sure you know you’re receiving this because it was ordered by some psychiatrist down on the blue and planet, but the truth is I would have written to you anyway had they given me the option. I have something I have to ask of you. _

_ If I die, I need you to check on my parents. They’ll want to know about our time on Mars. They’ll want to know what it was like for me, up here alone. I need you to do that. I’m sorry to ask, I really am, but you’re the only person I trust to be able to make it through. I know it’ll be a lot to talk to two people about their dead son. And I hope it doesn’t come to that. _

_ I’m not giving up, I promise. I’m just planning for every outcome. Guess Eddie rubbed off on me after all. _

_ Please tell them that I love what I do. I am so, so relieved I had this opportunity. Being an astronaut was the only thing I ever wanted, and I’m really good at it. Tell them that I died for something big and beautiful and greater than me. _

_ Tell them I said I can live with that. _

  
  


_ Dear Eds, _

_ If you kill my plants, I’ll fucking murder you, you obnoxious fuck. Botany is a real science and you fucking know it. _

_ Wish you were here. Mostly so I could have someone cute and little to tease and flirt with, but also because my back is fucked to all shit with all the manual labor I’ve had to do. Bet I look shredded though. Maybe it’s a good thing that you aren’t here, because then you’d definitely fall in love with me. I’m a charmer that way. _

_ Don’t take this the wrong way, but your letter is the hardest to write. _

_ It’s full of shit, too, but I don’t have to tell you that. You’ve always known that I’m full of shit. _

_ I miss you. And I’m fighting tooth and fucking nail to make it back to you. Don’t doubt that for a second. _

_ Love, Richie _

_ P.S. Sorry I never say the right words. I promise one day I’ll do better for you. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[MAY 2036, EARTH]**

“What the hell is Project Elrond?” Annie scoffs.

Across the table, Venkat gives her a half-assed shrug. “We didn’t have a lot of time, I had to make something up.”

Annie scrunches her nose. “So you came up with ‘Elrond’?”

Mitch leans forward, eyes wide with realization. “Is it because this is a secret meeting?” he asks. “Venkat said I wasn’t even allowed to tell my assistant.”

“I’ll explain when Teddy arrives,” Venkat reassures them.

But Annie has already turned her attention to Mitch, aggravated. “How’d you know that? Why does ‘Elrond’ mean ‘secret meeting’?”

“Are we going to make a momentous decision?” Bruce asks. There’s a huge grin on his face that Annie scoffs at as well. She swivels between the men in the room, growing increasingly frustrated.

“Exactly,” Venkat confirms.

“How do you _ know _that?” Annie demands.

Bruce sighs and turns to her, leaning forward. “The Council of Elrond, Annie. From _ Lord of the Rings_? It’s the meeting where they decide they have to destroy the One Ring?”

Annie scowls and sits back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Are you serious right now? _ Lord of the Rings, _John Bender, can you guys go eight seconds without making some kind of pop culture reference?”

The door swings open and Teddy walks in briskly. His eyebrows are already raised. “If we’re calling something Project Elrond, I would like my codename to be ‘Glorfindel’.”

Annie groans. “I hate all of you. I quit, after this.”

Teddy takes his seat at the conference table. “Is anyone going to tell me what this meeting is about?”

“_Teddy _doesn’t even know?” Mitch demands. “Venkat.”

Venkat gestures to the final person in the room, an exhausted-looking young man who blinks wearily when he realizes all eyes are on him. “Everyone, this is Rich Purnell. He’s one of our astrodynamicists. Rich, tell them exactly what you told me.”

Rich clears his throat and tries, in vain, to straighten the shirt he’s wearing. It looks like he’s been wearing it for a long time. “Right. So. I can get the _ Hermes _back to Mars by Sol 561.”

The room is silent.

Rich coughs awkwardly.

“Are you serious?” Annie demands.

“How?” Teddy asks.

Bruce scoffs. “That’s impossible. Iris wasn’t even going to land that soon.”

“_Iris_,” Rich interrupts, fidgeting with his sleeves, “is a point-thrust craft. _ Hermes _ has a constant-thrust ion engine. It’s always accelerating. _ Hermes _ also has a ton of velocity right now. If they kept on their course to Earth, they’d have to decelerate for the next month to make sure they slow down to Earth’s speed. I’m proposing we don’t slow them down. We start accelerating immediately, to preserve velocity and keep it comin’. _ Hermes _doesn’t intercept Earth at all, but they get just close enough to use a gravity assist to adjust course. While they’re turning around, we resupply with the probe…”

“The Taiyeng Shen?” Teddy asks. “The probe that China so generously gifted to us to bring an American astronaut home?”

But Rich continues, ignoring him completely. “Pick up whatever provisions we need, then keep them accelerating towards Mars. By this point, of course, they’d be going too fast to fall into Mars’ orbit, so it would have to be a flyby to pick up Tozier.”

“A flyby?” Bruce demands. “What good is a flyby if we have no way to get Tozier off the surface?”

“We have the MAV,” Venkat reminds them. “On the _Ares IV_ site. The _Hermes _can pilot it if he were inside.”

“Then they all head back home,” Rich concludes. “All original seven crew members. I’ve done the math. It checks out.”

Teddy looks right at Venkat. The rest of the room is silent, processing.

“Rich?” Teddy says calmly.

“Yes, sir.”

“Get out.”

Rich startles at the forwardness in Teddy’s tone, but there’s no room for questioning. He grabs his notebook full of calculations and hurries out the door, tripping over his own untied shoelaces on his way out. Teddy turns to Venkat.

“Is he right?”

Venkat nods. “The math does check out.”

“And we need to use the Taiyeng Shen?”

Venkat’s expression drops slightly. He hesitates before answering, “Yes.”

Annie leans forward, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “What am I missing? Why is that important?”

“Because we can only do one,” Venkat says solemnly.

Teddy nods. “Send Tozier enough food to last until _Ares IV_ arrives, or send the _ Hermes _back to get him right now.”

“What about the _ Hermes _crew? This is asking them to add…” Annie trails off as she does the math in her head. “Over five hundred days to their mission. That’s a long extension for a mission that has already gone sour once.”

“They wouldn’t hesitate,” Mitch says sharply. His gaze is steady as everyone turns to him. “Not for one goddamn second. Of course they’d say yes. That’s why Venkat called this meeting. He wants us to decide.”

Venkat nods, but Mitch stands angrily. His chair clatters back. “Bullshit!” he snaps. “This should be Commander Marsh’s call.”

“It’s a matter of life and death, Mitch,” Venkat says patiently. “We have to make this decision.”

Mitch scoffs. “She’s the Mission Commander. Life and death decisions are her damn job. She already made one once, deciding to leave Mars to save her crew. You know damn well she’ll want to correct that choice now.”

Teddy holds up a placating hand. “Can the _ Hermes _even function for five hundred days beyond the scheduled mission end?”

“It should,” Venkat answers. “It was designed for all five Ares missions.”

“So if something went wrong, we could lose the whole program,” Annie guesses. Her shoulders go up defensively when Mitch turns to give her an incredulous look. “And the whole crew! Jesus, of course the crew.”

“So,” Bruce drawls. “We have either, what? A high chance of killing one person, or a low chance of killing seven people? How do we make that decision?”

Venkat looks right at Teddy, gaze unwavering. “We don’t. Teddy does.”

“Commander _ Marsh _should—” Mitch starts to protest, but Venkat holds up a hand to quiet him. All eyes fall onto Teddy, whose shoulders are dropped under the weight of such a momentous decision. He looks between every other person in the room with him, and after a long moment of consideration, he finally sighs.

“We still have the chance to bring six astronauts home safe and sound,” he says, ignoring Mitch’s rising volume as he protests. “I’m not risking their lives—”

“_Let them make that decision!_”

Teddy turns sharply. “Mitch. We’re going with the Taiyeng Shen.”

Mitch shakes his head. The room feels thick with his anger. “You’re a goddamn coward, Teddy,” he says dangerously. “You just want to cut losses. This is damage control, you don’t care about Tozier’s life.”

“Of course I care about Tozier,” Teddy responds, voice level. “You can throw all the tantrums you want, Mitch, but the rest of us have to be adults. This isn’t a television show. The risker solution isn’t always best.”

Mitch jams an angry finger in Teddy’s chest and snarls, “_Bullshit_.”

When he leaves, the door slams shut behind him.

“What the hell just happened?” Bruce mutters.

Teddy clears his throat and straightens his suit jacket. Annie stands while everyone else processes, and the sounds of her papers rustling seem louder in the quiet. Teddy turns to her. “Annie, we should—”

“He’s right,” she says in a sharp voice. Teddy’s mouth snaps shut. “I know you care about these astronauts, Teddy, but Mitch is right. You _ are _a coward. And if you actually had the balls, we might have actually been able to save Richie.”

  
  
  
  
  


**[SOL 193, MARS]**

Richie isn’t sure how long he’s been sitting atop the hill, but enough time has passed that the sun is no longer bearing down on him from up above. The horizon is starting to go blue. Soon the temperature alarm on his suit will start to blare, and he’ll have no choice but to head back to the Hab.

His eyes slip closed. He’s exhausted, in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. Resigned. He hadn’t even had the energy today to clean off the solar panels.

The temperature alarm starts to blare. Richie overrides it. His limbs pop as he stands, a result of sitting in the same place for far too long. Unable to resist, Richie turns to glance at the horizon and the setting sun one last time.

A metallic glint catches his eye.

Richie walks towards it.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 193 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ I’m not done up here. Even if I don’t make it… _

_ There’s still work to be done. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[MAY 2036, EARTH]**

“What is he doing?” Venkat asks, leaning over Mindy’s chair.

“He’s been doing EVAs throughout the day,” she answers, pointing to Mark making his way towards the Rover on the screen. “There’s a pattern. He goes out three hundred meters, then stops. Three hundred more, then stops. Then three hundred back to where he originally was and then he stops.”

Venkat frowns. “And no one gave him any instructions? Did JPL schedule something and forget to tell us?”

Mindy shakes her head and leans forward. “We’re receiving a transmission.”

Numbers and data fill the screen. Mindy frowns as she tries to decipher it. She reads out loud, hoping something will make sense. “Chem analysis… sample batch 1A-7C…”

Venkat’s face goes slack once he realizes. “Commander Marsh’s geo-compositing experiments.”

Mindy glances back at him, brow still furrowed. “What?” she asks.

But Venkat barely hears her. He takes in the data as it comes, and pride swells in his gut. Richie Tozier, in the face of unimaginable trauma and trial…

“He’s finishing the mission,” Venkat murmurs, and pride swells in his gut.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[SOL 194, MARS - MAY 2036, EARTH]**

The most mundane part of Bill’s day on the _ Hermes _ is running the diagnostics check on the ship’s engines and checking the position and orientation of the _ Hermes _path. The ship, for the most part, has been piloting itself—Bill’s duties as navigator were almost laughably easy. The computer did its job and kept them on track. Complete computer failure would be the only thing that would require Bill to put his astrodynamics knowledge to work.

While the final check runs, he takes a minute to open his email. Georgie and his wife had promised more photos of their daughters, and Bill is hoping there was a response to his request to video conference with them soon.

Sure enough, an email from Georgie with the subject line “_your nieces_” is waiting for him to view. Bill clicks on it and narrows his eyes when he sees the email blank, save for a single image attachment. It’s unlike Georgie not to include a chunk of text in his emails.

The file declines opening. A message deeming the file unreadable pops up from his viewer. Bill sits back. Then, after a moment of debating, he leans forward and switches on the comm to the Rec Room. “Hey, Mikey, I k-know it’s your personal gym time, but can I b-b-bother you with something real fast?”

There’s a moment of quiet before the comm from the Rec Room switches on, and Mike’s voice rings through the speakers. “Ah, Bill, you know you never bother me. What’s going on?”

Bill grins. “I’ll head your way. Wr-wrap up your yoga mat, buddy.”

“Ha, ha,” Mike says dryly.

Bill shuts the comm off and switches back to the diagnostics check, nodding to himself when it comes back normal. He locks his computer. It’s a short distance to the Rec Room from his work station, but the transition from weightlessness to manufactured gravity still gets him every time. He makes it to the Rec Room right as Mike is wrapping up on the treadmill, and they both take a seat on the couch.

“So what’s wrong?” Mike asks. He takes a drink from his water bottle but then accepts the tablet that Bill passes to him.

“G-G-Georgie, my brother,” Bill explains, “he sent me a picture of the twins, but the viewer won’t... won't open the image.”

Mike frowns as he looks at the attachment. “Something probably mangled in the download,” he says. “Let me take a look with a hex editor, and see…”

Bill shifts uneasily next to him. Something feels strange about this whole thing.

“This isn’t a jpeg,” Mike murmurs after a moment. “It’s ASCII. Plain text file. The viewer pulls up… I don’t know what this is. A bunch of math equations. Does any of this make sense to you?”

Mike angles the tablet back to Bill. “It’s… ‘The Rich Purnell Maneuver’. It looks like a c-c-course maneuver for the _ Hermes_…”

“What, different from the one we’re on?” Mike asks, confused.

But Bill can barely hear him. His eyes fall on one phrase in particular, and ice dumps down his back as he realizes what it means. What it could mean.

“Sol 561,” he whispers. “H-h-h—Jesus, holy _ fuck_.”

* * *

There’s a vacuum in space. Eddie understands this. He understands that sound needs molecules to pass through in order for their vibrations to be picked up by the human ear. He knows that outside the _ Hermes_, there is nothing. Not even the hum of a lightbulb.

He feels, as Bill finishes his briefing, as though the Rec Room has become that vacuum now. The room is silent, shocked. Hysterically, Eddie thinks, every time they think they can’t be surprised again, something new comes up.

Beverly stands in front of all of them, looking at each of them in turn. She, of course, has known about the maneuver since Denbrough and Hanlon brought it to her first. For Eddie and Stan and Ben, it’s their first time processing it.

“Would it really work?” Ben whispers.

“I ran the numbers,” Bill responds, unwavering and confident. “They check out. It’s a brilliant course, truly. Beautiful.”

“Why all the cloak and dagger?” Stan asks. There’s desperation in his voice that Eddie thinks they might all be feeling.

Beverly steps forward. “The message says that NASA originally rejected the idea. They’d rather take a big risk on Richie than a small risk on the six of us. Clearly, someone at that round table didn’t agree.” The corner of her mouth lifts into a slight smile.

Ben clears his throat. His eyes are wide. “So, just by discussing this, we’re talking about directly going against NASA’s official decision?”

“Yes,” Beverly answers honestly. “If we do the maneuver, they’ll have to send up the supply probe for us to intercept or we’ll die. Now that we have the maneuver, we have an opportunity to force their hand.”

“Are we going to do it?” Mike questions.

“We have to!” Eddie explodes desperately. Five startled pairs of eyes snap to him, and he stands up out of his chair. There is something fierce and demanding in his chest, something pounding at his ribcage and threatening to burst. His breath comes in frantic puffs. “We have to, right? It’s _ Richie _ . He’d do the same for us. _ We have to_.”

“Commander?” Ben prompts.

Beverly doesn’t look away from Eddie. “If it were up to me, we’d already be on our way,” she tells them.

“You’re the commander,” Stan reminds her. His voice shakes, and Eddie’s gaze snaps to him. They don’t lean on each other enough, Eddie realizes, despite being the two people who might need it the most. Stan catches his eye and nods once before looking back at Beverly. “Isn’t it up to you?”

Beverly swallows. “This isn’t a normal decision. This is something NASA _ expressly _rejected. If we do this, we are actively starting a mutiny. I’m not using that word lightly. We do this together or not at all, so everyone gets a voice.”

“I vote yes,” Eddie chokes out. Ben puts a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Eddie,” Beverly says gently. “Consider the consequences—”

“I _ have_,” he snaps. “Commander, _ look at me_. Of course I’ve considered the consequences. If we mess up the supply rendezvous, we die. If we mess up the Earth gravity assist, we die. Even if we do everything perfectly, we’ll be adding five hundred and thirty-three more days to our missions. Five hundred and thirty-three days of unplanned space travel where an engine could fail, or a meteor could strike us, or a feral alien clown from hell could come eat our faces off. I’ve considered the risks, Commander, and even with them, I know it’s worth it. _ Richie _is worth it.”

“Well if Risk Analyst over here is s-sold on it, you can c-c-count me in,” Bill adds. Eddie shoots him a thankful look, feeling out of breath and, terrifyingly, out of faith.

“If we go for it, how would it work?” Stan asks.

Bill shrugs. “Job for an astro—fuck, _astrophysicist._ I plot the course and execute it.”

“Remote override,” Mike reminds them. “Can’t NASA take over the _ Hermes _from Mission Control?”

“You could disable it,” Stan suggests. Bill claps a hand on his shoulder and gives him a proud, beaming grin.

“Stan the Man,” he murmurs.

“Could you?” Bev asks Mike.

Mike considers it for a moment. “The _ Hermes _has four redundant flight computers. Each connected to three redundant comm systems. We can’t shut down the comms or we’d lose telemetry and guidance. We can’t shut down the computers, we need them to control the ship. I’d have to… disable the Remote Override on each system, and since it’s part of the OS, I’d have to jump over the code, but. Yes. I can do it.”

Relief rushes through Eddie like he’s been dropped into a pool, but it isn’t enough to silence his pounding heart.

“You’re sure?” Beverly asks. Even in her steady voice, there’s a hint of hope. A dangerous beast rattling the cages in all their chests.

“I’m sure,” Mike confirms. “Shouldn’t be too hard. It’s an emergency feature, not a security program, so it isn’t protected against malicious code.”

Bill gives Mike a broad grin. “Malicious code? So you—you’ll be a hacker?”

Mike grins back. “Yeah, man. I guess I will.”

Ben’s grip tightens on Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie wonders, now, who it’s supporting more. The desperation in this room is almost suffocating.

Beverly looks between them all again. Her commanderly demeanor is back, demanding their attention and respect. Eddie straightens on instinct. “It has to be unanimous,” she tells them. “If anyone says no, then that’s it. We go home as planned. We return to our families, to our lives, and we watch from Earth as they try to rescue Richie. But. I vote yes.”

“Yes,” Bill confirms.

“You know it’s a yes from me,” Mike says.

Ben takes a deep breath. “Yes,” he breathes. “We should do the maneuver.”

Stan nods. “I say yes. Richie would, if it were me.”

But the word is stuck in Eddie’s throat. The overwhelming realization that they will be turning around, going back to _ Mars, _where everything went to shit just five short months ago, suddenly feels momentous. This is where he nearly lost everything.

Then, he realizes, this is where he will get everything _back._

“Of course I say yes,” he snaps. “Let’s go get our boy.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[JUNE 2036, EARTH]**

In the Mission Control room, not much happens from the hours of 1am to 9am. Brendan Hatch has a quiet, easy shift. He enjoys it, in the way only someone who believes they are on the fast track for a promotion can.

Brendan is stirring his tea when he gets a comm alert.

“_Flight, CAPCOM._”

Brendan turns his radio on. “Go CAPCOM.”

“_Unscheduled status update from _ Hermes_, Flight._”

Brendan’s brow furrows slightly, but doesn’t allow himself to jump to conclusions. Unscheduled status updates could mean anything. Brendan was mostly just counting down the days until the _ Hermes _was close enough that they could stop communicating by NASA’s equivalent of texting. “Roger, read it out.”

CAPCOM hesitated. “_Flight, I don’t get it. No real status. Just a single sentence._”

Brendan sits up straight. “What does it say?”

“_Message reads: ‘Houston, be advised: Rich Purnell is a steely-eyed missile man._”

* * *

Teddy doesn’t look away from the window when he hears Mitch enter the room. He feels tired, as though he has aged eighty years overnight, and he knows that Mitch can wait. There is a lot to get done now.

“Annie will go before the media this morning and inform them of NASA’s decision to reroute the _ Hermes _to Mars.”

Mitch nods. “Smart move. Considering the circumstances.”

Teddy’s eyes close and he takes a deep breath. “Why did you do it, Mitch?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You may have just killed the whole crew. All seven of them, Tozier included, do you understand that?”

Mitch rocks on the heels of his feet. “Whoever gave them the maneuver only passed along the information. The crew came to a decision on their own. _ They _are the ones who decided Richie Tozier warranted a trip back.”

Teddy finally looks at Mitch. He is almost too tired for anger. “We’re fighting the same war, Mitch. Every time something goes wrong, the world forgets why we fly. Every astronaut we’ve lost, every failure we have. The world forgets. I’m trying to keep us airborne. This is bigger than one person.”

“With all due respect, Teddy, no. It’s not.”

Teddy looks away again, relenting. The world looks normal outside his window. Nothing out of the ordinary. “When this is over, I expect your resignation.”

Mitch lets out a small, disbelieving laugh. “Sure. But you better be glad _ someone _was willing to take risks to save lives, since you weren’t capable of doing it.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**VIDEO LOG: SOL 198 [Cont., video] - Tozier, R**

“They’re coming back for me. _ Holy shit_.”

_ [For the first time in 75 sols, Tozier sits in front of the camera again. There are bags under his eyes and a thinness in his face that wasn’t there before, but he grins from ear to ear and he looks exactly the same. His eyes are filled with tears but none fall yet.] _

“I—Jesus Christ, I just… _ they’re coming back for me _.”

_ [He lets out a disbelieving laugh and finally, finally, the tears start to fall. The smile stays in place.] _

“Sorry. Sorry, I just. _ Ha! _I don’t even know how to react. I don’t know what to say. I know I’m a weeb who's, like, in love with literally all of his friends, but I can’t… I can’t believe they’re _ coming back for me._”

_ [He wipes at his cheeks, startled, like he can’t believe he’s crying.] _

“Look at me. I’m a fucking mess.”

_ [Tozier runs a hand through his hair, which has grown out in the time he hasn’t sat in front of the video log. He takes a deep, steadying breath and looks straight at the camera.] _

“I have so much fucking work to get done now. The end goal is still the Schiaparelli Crater, but now instead of going there and waiting for the _ Ares IV _ crew to pick me up, I’ll be heading there to steal their MAV. See, NASA figured out that it’s a lot easier to ship some shit up ahead of time rather than bring it with the crew, so the MAV for _ IV _ is already waiting at the Crater. The plan is to use it to launch me into orbit just as the _ Hermes _is passing. And then they… catch me? In space. Like I’m a supply probe that they’re intercepting.”

_ [Tozier hesitates, clearly thinking it over. His brow furrows as he concentrates. Then, suddenly, that same big takes over his face once again.] _

“That’s pretty fucking cool, I’m not gonna lie. Scary as all shit, but awesome. Anyway, that’s not my biggest problem right now. I have to get there first. And it’s… oh, three thousand and some kilometers away. So I have two hundred sols to figure out how to bring everything from the Hab that’s keeping me alive—the atmospheric regulator, the oxygenator, the water reclaimer, all of the aimers and inators—in the Rover with me. Thank god I have the brainpower of the smartest people on planet Earth helping me with this endeavor!”

_ [Tozier rolls his eyes.] _

“Wanna hear what they’ve come up with so far? ‘Drill holes in the roof of your rover, and then hit it with a big rock’...”

_ [He lets out a big sigh, tilting back in his chair.] _

“We’ll get there.”

_ [Tozier trails off again, eyes going misty. It’s as though he is miles away from his own body right now, seeing something that isn’t there. The corners of his mouth tilt up into a small, almost disbelieving smile. His words are barely caught by the camera.] _

“They’re _coming back_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> captain's log:  
i am LITERALLY posting this chapter in the middle of packing up the car and getting ready to leave for my trip, so let's talk about by the wire! i've got a six hour drive ahead of me but then a weekend of hockey and pool time and cocktails and birthday celebrations and thank jesus, because i need it after this.... insane..... week <strike>(lmao remember literally last chapter when i was like "this week is gonna be so easy!!!" well i asked for it)</strike> ANYWAY. after one of the most emotionally taxing weeks of my life, i am very happy to hit the road - and very excited to post an update before i go lol.
> 
> credit, as always, goes to andy weir and drew goddard, everything you recognize belongs to them. which we are thankful for, because i could not do the science on this. guys, i fucked up and put seven people on the crew instead of six which means i ALREADY had to do some math to make this work, can you imagine if i actually had to SCIENCE IT TOO?


	6. Chapter 6

**LOG ENTRY: SOL 202 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ Today I did something either super depressing or super inspiring. _

_ My life for the past few sols has been preparation for fucking up the Rover, which makes me super sad, so today I took a break before getting NASA’s OK to start drilling. I’m running low on ration packs and pretty soon I’ll only have my potatoes, so I set aside three rations just in case. One for the day I leave the Hab. One for my birthday, which I calculate will occur while I’m driving to the Crater. And one for my last day on Mars. So, yeah. Either I officially put aside my last meals or I officially declared that I’m determined to live. Tomato, tomahto, right? _

_ I can’t stop thinking about the crew. They’re giving up their lives on Earth to come back to me. They’re adding over a year to their mission. For _ _ ME__. I can barely even think about it without tearing up again. _

_ I’ll see them all again, and soon. Beverly, Mike, Bill, Ben, Stan. Eddie. _

_ God. I still can barely believe it. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[1149] TOZIER: ** ** _Drew the shape as per your request. Waiting for confirmation that you received satellite image._ **

**[1200] JPL: ** ** _Confirmed. Image received. What we can see looks good, Tozier. You’re cleared to start drilling._ **

**[1213] TOZIER: ** ** _That’s what she said._ **

**[1125] JPL: ** ** _Tozier._ **

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 204 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ So today I decided that I deserve a theme song. Since I have to base it off of music I can listen to, and I absolutely refuse to even come NEAR Ben’s New Kids On The Block collection, my choices are from Dear Eduardo’s truly extraordinary playlist. _

_ I’ve narrowed it down to either “Forever Young” by Alphaville, “Rocket Man” by Elton John, “Danger Zone” by Kenny Loggins, or “Fallen on Hard Times” by Jethro Tull. _

_ Hey, I like to see the humor in things, what’s so bad about that? _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[1515] TOZIER: ** ** _Completed 145 holes today, bringing the total up to 357 total. About halfway done._ **

**[1531] JPL: ** ** _We had hoped you would have more completed by now._ **

**[1542] TOZIER: ** ** _Haha you’re right! My bad. Guess I shouldn’t have taken that 2 hour lunch today. I’m such a lazy employee._ **

**[1543] TOZIER: ** ** _Dickheads._ **

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[SOL 205, MARS - JUNE 2036, EARTH]**

Eddie feels sick to his stomach as he stands outside Commander Marsh’s chambers.

Each day they got closer to Earth, each day bringing them closer to turning around and heading back towards Mars. To Richie.

The anticipation is killing him, putting ulcers in his gut and putting knots in his sleeping pattern and turning him into a ghost who wanders down the halls of the _ Hermes _sometimes and wonders how he was ever able to do it without Richie by his side.

He knows, realistically, that he needs to tell her. That if they’re really going back for Richie, Eddie needs to tell her and be honest about what the stakes are for him. He has to tell her that he’s emotionally invested in this, and most likely compromised. Richie’s survival depends on Eddie being honest.

God. He should have told her before they ever adjusted their course in the first place. This changes _ everything. _

His hands shake as he raises a fist to knock on her door.

“Come in,” calls Beverly. Eddie takes a deep breath, nods to himself, and pushes her door open. “Eddie! Haven’t seen you ‘round these parts in a while.”

Beverly sits at her work station, idly spinning a pen between her fingers. Music plays quietly from her personal computer. Her expression shifts from calm and happy to mildly concerned when Eddie doesn’t say anything, opting instead to shift further into the room and take a seat on the edge of her bed.

“Eddie?” she asks.

Eddie looks down at his hands. Still shaking. He has to find the right words to say.

“Kaspbrak,” Beverly says again, except for she’s Commander Marsh now and her tone leaves no room for arguing. Eddie’s eyes snap up to her and he straightens on instinct. It’s ingrained in him, he thinks. “What’s going on?”

“The resupply is soon,” Eddie starts, but it’s not what he wanted to say. He curls his hands into fists in hopes that it will steady the tremors.

“Are you nervous?” Beverly asks. “Hanscom is a great pilot, and we have good margins. He won’t miss.”

Eddie lets out a short puff of air. “No, I—fuck,” Eddie grits out. “I know. It’s gonna go fine, we’re going to resupply, and then we’ll finish our orbit of Earth, and then we’ll just be—we’ll just be on our _ way back _ to—to—”

Beverly stands and crosses the floor to Eddie until she can crouch in front of him and take his hands in hers. “Kaspbrak, look at me. Do you regret saying yes?”

“_No_!” Eddie says, horrified. “God, no, _ no, _I’d agree a thousand more times. We have to go back and get him, we… we have to. Commander, I—”

Beverly squeezes his hands once, reassuring, and Eddie finally finds his tongue.

“I love him,” he whispers. He squeezes his eyes shut, terrified to see whatever emotion may cross Beverly’s face at his admission. “Bev, I’m in love with Richie. That’s why I want us to go back. Because I love him and the time when I thought he was dead was the worst four months of my life, and the fact that he’s alive right now and I’m not there with him kills me. I’m in _ love _ with him.”

“Oh, Eddie,” Beverly breathes. Her thumb strokes his knuckles, and Eddie opens his eyes to stare at it, mesmerized, still too scared to look up.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. It compromises the mission, it compromises _ me, _but I love him, I love him so fucking much, Beverly, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner—”

Beverly tugs him up, and then her arms are wrapping around him, tight and certain, and he feels like he can breathe again. He gasps, shuddering, into her shoulder. Beverly clings to him. “You idiot,” she says fondly. “You think we aren’t all compromised? You think we aren’t all emotionally involved in this? Richie is all of ours, baby. He belongs to all of us.”

Eddie chokes on a sob. “I _ love _ him.”

“Oh, honey, I know you do,” Beverly reassures him. She strokes his hair and holds him tight. “I know. It’s okay. You love him, Eddie, it’s okay.”

He clings to her and for a moment, he allows himself to imagine that it’s enough. That this whole thing can be solved by pressing it into Beverly’s arms and letting her hold it together. Like the comfort of her embrace could stitch everything back in its rightful place.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**VIDEO LOG: SOL 206 [Cont., video] - Tozier, R**

“I’m literally stranded on a planet that has been fighting tooth and fucking nail, but still the most depressing thing to happen since all this went to shit happened today.”

_ [Tozier spins in his chair a few times before coming to a stop and giving the camera a pathetic, withering look. His mouth twists into an unhappy frown.] _

“Today I officially used my very last drilling joke.”

_ [He lets out a groan so loud it echoes against the empty walls of the Hab.] _

“This is a truly tragic day. My nickname is Trashmouth, for crying out loud. _ I’m gay. _And I have been defeated by using my entire litany of drilling jokes.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[0725] TOZIER:** ** _ GOOOOOOOD MORNING VIETNAAMMMMMM!!!!_ **

**[0736] HERMES:** ** _ Beep beep, Richie._ **

**[0743] TOZIER:** ** _ Just trying to add some levity to this shit. Pardon me if I woke up at fuckass dawn to talk to you lovely people. And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with today?_ **

**[0754] HERMES:** ** _ It’s Hanlon._ **

**[0809] TOZIER:** ** _ NO SHIT? HEYA, MIKEY!_ **

**[0809] TOZIER:** ** _ God I miss you._ **

**[0820] HERMES:** ** _ We miss you too, buddy. But we’ll be seeing you real soon._ **

**[0831] TOZIER:** ** _ Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask about that._ **

**[0831] TOZIER:** ** _ You guys are fucking amazing._ **

**[0832] TOZIER:** ** _ The decision to turn around musta been a hard one to make, especially when it came to saving my annoying ass. God, I can only imagine the fit that Eddie threw when it was brought up._ **

**[0833] TOZIER:** ** _ Am I allowed to ask what the vote count was? I’m guessing it was split down the middle until the swing vote, right?_ **

**[0845] HERMES:** ** _ It was unanimous, Rich._ **

**[0845] HERMES:** ** _ Every single one of us said yes._ **

**[0910] TOZIER:** ** _ No shit._ **

**[0910] TOZIER:** ** _ Don’t go pulling my leg, Mikey. I’m emotionally fragile._ **

**[0921] HERMES:** ** _ Wouldn’t dream of it._ **

**[0933] TOZIER:** ** _ I love you guys._ **

**[0935] TOZIER:** ** _ Hey, Mikey? Can you do me a favor?_ **

**[0946] HERMES:** ** _ Outside of turning our whole ship around to rescue you?_ **

**[0946] HERMES:** ** _ Of course, Richie. Anything._ **

**[0957] TOZIER:** ** _ Ask Eddie if I can talk to him soon?_ **

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 207 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ I don’t know if I ever explained just what it is I’m doing, but NASA has me drilling holes into the top of Rover to make a hole where I’ll basically put an expandable, portable Hab. The thing about the drill, though? This thing was only meant for teeny, tiny little geology projects. So it’s a pretty fucking small drill bit, but it also doesn’t have much power. _

_ All of this to summarize: I’m basically getting one hole every three minutes. So this work is tedious as HELL. And I am bored out of my goddamn mind. _

_ I’ve already exhausted all the material I could from my crewmate’s data sticks, except for Bill’s, which I found not too long ago. The guy put fucking horror novels on data stick, what the fuck?! I don’t need to hear about people getting murdered by invaders, I’m already living that constant fear, dude. _

_ I’m so goddamn bored. _

_ The good news? Mikey told me Eddie will be sitting his ass down at the Big Computer to talk to me finally. Sometime around 1800 my time. Don’t know what the fuck I’m gonna say to him. Obviously nothing important, I mean, come on. Have you met me? Have you been paying attention at all? _

_ All I know is I miss the fuck out of him. And if I hear him say that they’re really coming back for me, maybe this will start to feel more real. _

_ The bad news? I had a perfectly good opportunity to make a “that’s what she said” joke earlier and I didn’t even take it. _

_ Mars has changed me. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 208 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ Today was a boringly slow day. I didn’t manage to get very many holes done today since my drill died around 1300, which means I’ll be behind schedule for tomorrow. I’m letting it cool right now and might try to go back out again, but if worse comes to worse I’ll just have to take out the second drill tomorrow. _

_ Highlight of the day! Not long at all until I get to talk to Eddie. So far I’ve only thrown up once!! Me? And Nervous? I don’t know her. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[1708] TOZIER:** ** _ 131 holes today. 488 total. Something’s fucked with the drill, but I think it’s just an intermittent short. Might have to redo it._ **

**[1739] TOZIER:** ** _ No reply received, last message sent 30 minutes ago. Can someone please tell me if they’re receiving me so I can get the fuck out of the Rover before it gets too cold to go back to the Hab?_ **

**[1810] TOZIER:** ** _ Houston, please acknowledge._ **

**[1815] TOZIER:** ** _ system_command: STATUS_ **

**[1815] SYSTEM:** ** _ Last message sent 00h05m ago. Last message received 26h17m ago. Last ping reply from probe received 04h24m ago. WARNING: 50 unanswered pings._ **

  
  
  
  
  
  


“Fuck,” Richie whispers. “Fuck, _ fucker, _fuck!”

Quick math tells him that _ Pathfinder _stopped communicating with the Rover around 1300—the exact same time Richie’s drill stopped working.

“_Fuck,_” Richie breathes out. Fear spikes cold and sharp in his heart.

Some frantic investigating reveals that the negative lead is no longer attached in _ Pathfinder’s _connections, but where Richie knows he should be feeling elation, he only feels trepidation. He has a bad, sick feeling in his gut.

He grabs his electronic kit and makes to go reattach the lead, but he freezes again when he notices that the insulation has melted.

A horrible, dreadful reality begins to weigh down on him.

At 1300, Richie leaned his drill against his workbench next to _ Pathfinder_. He’d taken the cowling off to make room for the power line; but the workbench is metal. And a metal-to-metal connection would cause power to travel from the drill line’s positive lead, through the workbench, through the Mylar balloons that were resting between the bench and _ Pathfinder, _ through _ Pathfinder’s _ hull, through all the one-of-a kind electronics on Mars, and finally out the negative lead of _ Pathfinder’s _power line.

Richie just ran _ nine thousand milliamps _ through _ Pathfinder’s _delicate electronics.

“Fuck,” he says again, with feeling.

Then, a cold realization grips the back of his neck.

“Fuck,” he chokes out. “Fuck, _ no_.”

He scrambles back to his feet, moving almost on autopilot back towards the Rover and his computer set up in there. It takes far too long for the Rover to depressurize, and by the time he gets the alert that he’s in the clear, he throws his helmet off and gasps for breath. His last message from the system update stares back at him judgmentally.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[1829] TOZIER:** ** _ Hermes, this is Tozier. Do you copy?_ **

**[1834] TOZIER:** ** _ Eddie, are you there? Are you receiving?_ **

**[1840] TOZIER:** ** _ Eds??? Fuck fuck fuck please don’t tell me I killed Pathfinder literally right before I finally got to talk to you again._ **

**[1844] TOZIER:** ** _ MOTHERFUCKER._ **

**[1849] TOZIER:** ** _ Eddie I’m so fucking sorry_ **

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 208 [Cont., text] - Tozier, R**

_ I fucked up. I fucked up so big. _

_ Major Tom to Ground Control, the universe’s biggest idiot is the unlucky fuck who got stranded on the big red planet. _

_ Want to know what the idiot did this time? _

_ I leaned the drill on the workbench and electrocuted Pathfinder. Everything is completely fried. Pathfinder is dead, and I just killed my only way to communicate with anyone. _

_ I am, once again, completely on my own. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**VIDEO LOG: SOL 208 [Cont., video] - Tozier, R**

_ [Tozier sits in front of the camera, hands covering his mouth as he stares into the distance. His eyes are vacant and his expression is resigned.] _

“Want to know what the worst part is?”

_ [He laughs humorlessly.] _

“I didn’t even get to fucking talk to Eddie.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[JUNE 2036, EARTH]**

_ Dear Dr. Kaspbrak, _

_ Regarding your last email, I’m afraid I’m unable to tell the team of scientists to “go fuck themselves”, even if it is, as you say, in honor of Richie. They are just trying to help explain what could have happened to cause Pathfinder to die. We apologize if their explanations did not seem to please you. _

_ That being said, I can confirm that we have heard from Richie via a message he composed with rocks that we caught on a satellite image. We will continue taking images as often as we can to confirm that he is still alive and will send you updates as we have them. Your request to “stay in the loop for fucking once, unlike last time” is approved. _

_ I can also confirm that, per your request, a panel of doctors has convened to help you prepare for the extent of Richie’s injuries once you have intercepted him. As I know he is your close friend, I do feel the need to warn you that they are thinking worst-scenario. Please prepare yourself for that. They will begin corresponding with you closer to the time of the intercept. _

_ It seems as though you are putting that halted business degree to good use, Dr. Kaspbrak. In another life, you would have made an excellent risk analyst. Your assumption that NASA will be putting together and investigative committee is correct. It’s merely a formality to analyze the mission and see if there were any mistakes that could have been avoided. _

_ If we have more questions for you or the crew, we will reach out immediately. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Venkat Kapoor _

  
  


_ Dear Mr. Henderson, _

_ The crew has been alerted that an investigative committee has been formed with the purpose of analyzing our mission. We are writing to you because we know you will pass the message on. Please inform Mr. Kapoor, Mr. Sanders, the committee, and any other involved parties that any accusation against Commander Marsh will be publicly refuted and challenged by each member of the crew. We are well aware which way this investigation will turn, and none of us agree with it. You sent us up here to and told us to fight for one another. That’s what we do, Mr. Henderson. Tell NASA they underestimated us once before. That was a mistake. _

_ Warmest regards! _

_ Ares III Crew _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 213 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ One of these days, Mars is gonna run out of ways to try and kill me. _

_ Fuck. Fine, okay, technically this is on me. I guess I should say one day my stupidity HAS to run out and I’ll stop almost dying. Bet NASA’s fucking pissed that the crew let the biggest dumbass behind. Mike wouldn’t be fucking up this badly. _

_ I miss my crew. I miss them so much it’s literally goddamn pathetic. I was just getting used to talking to them again and now I don’t get to. I’m holding on to the fact that once I get to the MAV, I’ll actually be able to talk to them in real time. TALK! Voice-to-voice! _

_ The first thing I’m gonna do when I hear those fucker’s voices is… _

_ Well. Let’s be real. I’m gonna burst into tears. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[SOL 215, MARS - JUNE 2036, EARTH]**

“So,” Stan guesses. “You’re pissed.”

On the screen, Patty gives him a sad smile. The image quality is better than Stan had expected, but she looks even more beautiful than he remembers. There’s a hole in his chest that’s filled with missing her. “Am I that transparent?”

“I know you better than you think, babylove.”

“I tried to hide it,” Patty says with a sigh. “I didn’t want to spend this video call yelling at you. I figured there’d be plenty of time for that when you finally come home.”

Stan smiles, sheepish. “It’ll go by faster than you think.”

“You extended your mission five hundred and thirty-three days,” Patty reminds him. “That’s another year and a half that your newly-wed wife will be without you.”

“I know.”

“When I said, hey, we should get married before they launch you into space, I really thought that I’d be able to see you again before our fifth wedding anniversary.”

Stan puts his hand on the screen. Patty’s face softens as she mimics the gesture. “It’s Richie,” he says heavily. He would have turned around for any crew member, he knows that, but it’s _ Richie. _He didn’t have a choice. “I’m so sorry, Pat.”

“It’s Richie,” she agrees. Stan knows he has never deserved her. “He’s your best friend.”

“He’s everyone’s,” Stan corrects. Patty gives him a look, and he relents, “But yes. He is my best friend. But it’s more than that, Pat, he’s… We have to do this for Eddie. Richie is Eddie’s… well. He’s Eddie’s Patricia Blum.”

Out of habit, she reminds him, “That’s Patricia _Uris_ to you, mister,” and they both grin at each other for a moment before Stan’s words sink in. “Eddie and Richie?”

Stan bites his lip. “You should see Eddie around here. It’s like he’s a goddamn ghost. God, when they told us that Richie was alive, watching Eddie was like reliving Richie’s death over and over again. The only thing that kind of got him back to normal was this plan to turn around and rescue Richie.”

“Romantic,” Patty comments. “So sad. Poor Eddie. Though it is about time you caught on.”

Stan snorts. "Okay, Missus 'I think I know everything'."

"I _do _know everything."

Stan smiles. “So we have to get Richie back. For all of us but especially for Eddie. I’m so sorry, babylove.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s nothing but fondness behind it. Stan loves her more than he has words for; sometimes he thinks he loves her more than the cosmos could contain. “We’ll get past it,” Patty tells him. “Besides, I have some news of my own that you won’t like. To even the score.”

Stan narrows his eyes. “What is it?”

Patty’s face goes sheepish as she admits, “I bought a ticket to Panama.”

Stan gasps. “The Beautiful Treerunner?”

“Conservation efforts, volunteering, and a 4am horseback riding expedition to the Cerro Chucanti Ridge in hopes to catch a glimpse,” Patty tells him. Even as she confesses, the excitement is evident in her expression. 

Stan puts a hand over his heart and leans back in his seat. “Darling, please send me any picture you may get.”

Patty blows him a gentle kiss. “Anything for my Stanley.”

“I love you.”

“I know,” she says with a wink and another smile, and Stan is struck once again by the thought that he truly doesn’t deserve her. “I love you too, sweetheart. Go get your boy back and come home safe to me.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**FULL TRANSCRIPT: CNN’s ** ** _Richard Tozier Report, _ ** **Interview with Venkat Kapoor**

_ Venkat, Director of Mars Operations for NASA, interviews with Cathy Johannsen of CNN to discuss the science behind the launching of _ ‘Iris’ _ from Jiuquan Mission Control. _

(Transcript provided via the New York Times)

JOHANNSEN (CNN): Welcome to CNN’s _ Richard Tozier Report, _ I’m Cathy Johannsen. Today we meet with the director of Mars operations, Venkat Kapoor. Dr. Kapoor is currently in China to prepare for the launch of the resupply probe for _ Hermes _and, in time, Richard Tozier. Dr. Kapoor, thank you for joining us.

KAPOOR: Happy to do it.

JOHANNSEN: Dr. Kapoor, tell us about the Taiyang Shen. Why are we launching a probe from China to resupply a US mission?  
KAPOOR: _ Hermes _ isn’t going to orbit Earth, it’s just passing by. And its velocity is huge. We needed a booster capable of escaping Earth’s gravity _ and _ matching _ Hermes’s _current velocity. As of this point in time, only the Taiyang Shen has enough power to do that.

JOHANNSEN: What can you tell us about the probe itself? _ Iris II_?

KAPOOR: It… was a rush job. JPL only had thirty days to put it together, and they had to be as safe and efficient is possible. It’s basically a shell full of food and other supplies. There’s a standard satellite thruster package for maneuvering, but that is it.

JOHANNSEN: Is that enough to fly to _ Hermes_?

KAPOOR: The Taiyang Shen will send it to _ Hermes. _ The thrusters are for fine control and docking. Since JPL didn’t have time to make a guidance system, it will be remote controlled by a human pilot?

JOHANNSEN: And who is controlling it?

KAPOOR: Our _ Ares III _ pilot, Ben Hanscom. He’ll take over control once the probe is close enough and guide it to the _ Hermes. _

JOHANNSEN: What if there’s a problem with the docking?

KAPOOR: _ Hermes _will have their EVA specialist suited up and ready the whole time. Dr. Eddie Kaspbrak. If necessary, he will literally grab the probe with his hands and pull it over to the docking port.

JOHANNSEN: (laughing) Almost like he’s bringing in the groceries.

KAPOOR: Exactly like that. However, we aren’t anticipating any problems with the docking process.

JOHANNSEN: It seems as though you’ve got all your bases covered.

KAPOOR: We’ve got to.

JOHANNSEN: Thank you for taking the time to answer our questions, Dr. Kapoor.

KAPOOR: Always a pleasure.

JOHANNSEN: Once again, that was Dr. Venkat Kapoor of the Mars operations, and this has been CNN’s _ Richard Tozier Report. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[SOL 217, MARS - JUNE 2036, EARTH]**

“Distance sixty-one meters. Velocity two-point-three meters per second,” Mike reads out loud.

“No problem,” Ben says calmly. He doesn’t remove his eyes from the screen. Behind him, Beverly floats up and watches the screens, alternating between Mike and Ben.

Over the radio, Eddie’s voice rings out, “Visual contact. Denbrough, are you in position?”

“R-r-ready to rescue your sorry ass if something goes wrong,” Bill jokes. Stan laughs over the comms. “In Airlock 2 and r-ready.”

“Distance forty-three meters, velocity remains the same,” Mike updates. Ben smiles to himself.

“All stats normal,” he reassures everyone. Beverly puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes and his whole body goes warm. He hopes he isn’t blushing, though he’s sure she already knows the effect she has on him regardless.

“Slight rotation in the probe,” Mike warns. “Relative rotational velocity is… point-zero-five revolutions per second.”

Beverly’s grip tightens just a little on his shoulder, but Ben’s voice is still calm as he reminds them, “Anything under point-three is fine. Our capture system can deal with it.”

There’s a crackle before Eddie’s voice rings out over the comms again. “The probe is well within manual recovery range,” he tells them. There’s an edge in his voice that none of them comment on.

“Copy,” Beverly says. “Thank you, Kaspbrak.”

“I’m going to start slowing her down,” Ben says. He sends the instructions to the probe and nods once to himself. “Angle is good.”

“Velocity one-point-eight…” Mike updates. “One-point-three… point-nine… Stable at point-nine meters per second.”

Ben tilts his head from side to side. “Range?”

“Twelve meters,” Mike answers. “Angle is still good.”

A huge grin splits his face. “Then we’re all set up for auto-capture,” he tells everyone. There’s a collective sigh of relief. “Alright, _ Iris, _let’s get you in safe and sound.”

He watches through the cameras as the probe drifts into the docking port, settling automatically once it reaches the port’s retractor mechanism. Several loud clanks ring through the ship, and there’s a moment of silence before the computer chimes and an alert pops up on Ben’s screen alerting success.

“Docking complete,” he breathes out. The relief is evident in his voice.

“Seal is tight,” Mike confirms.

Beverly squeezes his shoulder again. Ben resists the urge to cover her hand with his and intertwine their fingers. “Kaspbrak, I’m afraid your services won’t be needed.”

“_Oh, thank god,_” comes Eddie’s relieved gasp over the comms. Stan’s chuckle fills Ben’s ears again. “Roger that, Commander. Closing the airlock now.”

“Denbrough, you can come in, too,” Beverly says.

“C-copy that,” Denbrough says lightly.

Beverly finally takes her hand off of Ben’s shoulder so she can press a button on her headset. “Jiuquan, this is _ Hermes. _Probe docking complete. No complications.”

Mitch Henderson greets them from the other end of the comm. “Glad to hear it. Report status once you get supplies aboard and inspected.”

“Roger, Jiuquan,” Beverly agrees. She takes off her headset. There’s only one brief moment of hesitation before she reaches forward and yanks Mike and Ben out of their seats towards her. They go easily, and the three of them share a floating hug before she pushes them both away. “God, I can’t cry yet. Not very commanderly of me to burst into tears. God. Okay, I’m proud of you both. Go unload the probe, I’m gonna go help Kaspbrak de-suit. Uris, are you near Denbrough?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Stan confirms. “I’ll help him.”

“We’re grown men, we can de-suit by ourselves, Commander,” Eddie protests.

Beverly rolls her eyes, already floating away towards them. Ben watches after her, mesmerized. “And yet, I’m still on my way to help you, Kaspbrak. _Ain’t no stopping me now_.”

“Please don’t sing,” Eddie asks in a pained voice, and laughter from all around echoes in Ben’s ears.

For a moment, Ben feels like they’re all on the way back to normal. This is more _ them _than they have been in a long, long time.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**VIDEO LOG: SOL 220 - Tozier, R**

_ [Tozier’s glassy-eyed, staring out the window of the Rover. He’s in his EVA suit and a little bit sweaty but otherwise looks the same. He doesn’t look away from the window as he speaks.] _

“If my calculations are right, the resupply must have happened recently. I know they were planning it for June on Earth, and it’s Sol 220 for me, which is right smack in the middle of June Earth time. Unfortunately, I have no way to find out until I get to the _ Ares IV _site.”

_ [He sighs. There is exhaustion in his expression that seems to be there more often than not.] _

“I hope it went well.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**[SOL 222, MARS - JUNE 2036, EARTH]**

Eddie stares out of the porthole, unable to look away from the blue and green planet he knows and calls home. If all went the way it was supposed to, he’d be down there by now. Safe and settling back into their normal lives. Moving on. Home.

With great effort, he looks away from Earth and tries his hardest to spot Mars out in the vastness. His heart hammers painfully in his chest. Home, he knows, may be down below him, but it would be empty without Richie coming back with them. He smiles to himself.

“We’ll be there soon, Richie,” he murmurs. He puts his hand on the glass and imagines that somewhere, even with all the space between them, Richie might be doing the same thing. “I’ll see you real soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> captain's log:  
WELL HEY IT'S BEEN A MINUTE. thanks for all the well-wishes regarding my trip, it was a lot of fun and WELL needed. finally got to see an nhl hockey game (even tho my team lost, boo, i'm a sore loser it's fine) and i have enjoyed a full week off of work. spent today making THREE PIES and eating a lot of mashed potatoes. somehow found the time to write and read a 121k fic overnight in the midst of all of that so hey, time management!  
i had a lot of fun with this chapter exploring more of the crew's responses to things and of course that heartbreaking scene with bev and eddie. a lot of this is off script from the movie or book, and i did veer from the film by adding a twist that is in the book (watney, aka richie, losing pathfinder and his ability to communicate with people). (sorry.) ANYWAY WOW this story feels like it's flying by for me and i'm so glad you are all enjoying it too!!
> 
> fun fact: the "fuck" count as of this chapter is 164... go richie.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in the book, there's large jumps between sols but a lot of entries about what keeps watney busy from the time in between losing contact with NASA and reaching the MAV. for the sake of my sanity (and following the movie on this bit) i employed a good old-fashioned, regular, boring old time jump. let's goooo

_ nearly seven months later… _

**VIDEO LOG: SOL 440 - Tozier, R**

“There’s an international treaty saying no country can lay claim to anything that isn’t on Earth.”

_ [Tozier sits on the ground of the bunks, carefully boxing up items from around him. The box he is currently working on has Commander Marsh’s name written on the side. His hair, unruly on a regular day, has grown out significantly and is tied back by a rubber band. His face is thin and pale, and there are deep dark circles under his eyes. What little scruff he is able to grow has taken over, giving him a wild appearance.] _

“By another treaty, if you aren’t in any country’s territory, maritime law applies. So technically… that means Mars is ‘international waters’. Well, okay, NASA owns the Hab, but anytime I step outside the Hab, Mars is international waters.”

_ [He places a gently-folded t-shirt in the box. He moves slowly when he places the lid on top and slides the box to the side. The next box he grabs has Kaspbrak’s name written on the side. He hesitates when he catches sight of it.] _

“So here’s what I can’t stop fucking thinking about. I leave in nine sols for the Schiaparelli Crater, where I will commandeer the _ Ares IV _ lander. Since I killed _ Pathfinder _ two hundred sols ago, no one explicitly gave me permission to do this. I mean, technically, back then, it was just a suggestion. And, again, since no one at NASA can talk to me until I’m aboard the _ Ares IV _lander, I’m operating a one-man mission here. Taking control of a craft, in international waters, without permission. So, if we’re putting a name to it… that technically makes me a pirate.”

_ [Tozier hesitates as he pulls a hoodie out of Kaspbrak’s box, looking at it with clouded eyes before he places it aside. He continues to load up Kaspbrak’s box.] _

“Richie Tozier, space pirate.”

_ [He deepens his voice and adds a little growl to it for his next bit.] _

“I be workin’ on me pirate voice fer the occasion. Arr, matey, and a yo-ho-ho!”

_ [Tozier lets out a loud laugh, allowing a big grin to split his face. Despite all the physical changes, he still looks like the same joking man who took one of the first steps on Mars under five hundred sols ago.] _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 442 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ I keep thinking about how I’m only a few short sols away from leaving the Hab for good. _

_ Mortality has been consuming basically all of my waking thoughts. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t have a tendency to take things seriously. I like to use humor in situations that I don’t immediately know how to respond to. Humor loses its appeal quickly up here. Especially when no one is laughing. The thing is, I never thought about dying before this. _

_ I spent two years getting to know Eddie Kaspbrak on Earth before they sent us up here, and I spent two years listening to him list off all the ways we could die before we even got to the surface of Mars. But it wasn’t even a blip on my radar. I trusted NASA, I trusted the safety of the Hermes, I genuinely didn’t believe anything could go wrong. Maybe it was naive, but I didn’t think death was possible for me. _

_ I’m a goddamn astronaut, for crying out loud. I’m fucking invincible. _

_ But lately the reality of my situation has been weighing down on me. In seven sols, I’ll shut down the Hab. I’ll turn off the lights on the place that has kept me (mostly) safe for four-hundred sols. I’ll begin a journey across the surface of Mars that approximately zero people predicted would ever be made. I’ll leave behind my crewmate’s personal objects, I’ll leave behind all remaining traces of my farm. I’ll leave the equipment that kept me busy when I had nothing else to do. The hum of the water reclaimer, the buzz of the oxygenator. _

_ I don’t mean to sound like I’m romanticizing the Hab. It’s just disheartening knowing that this place I’ve known for so long will soon be completely empty. _

_ I’m staring at the face of what could be my demise, and still the thing that’s come back to haunt me the most is that I never got to tell Eddie that I’m in love with him. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[DECEMBER 2033]**

Richie doesn’t know how he ended up here.

He’s certain that he did something truly terrible, either in this life or a past life, and that now he is serving punishment in the epitome of literal hell. And yet, he’s enraptured entirely, unable to look away, as Eddie dances through the room. Eddie is fuzzy and warm at the edges, unfocused and consumed, it seems, by the beat playing almost gently through the speakers. No one else seems to be paying him much mind, though they’re all at various stages of sobriety themselves.

It’s New Years Eve, and they’re in the middle of their extensive astronaut training, and someone had the brilliant idea to take the night off and throw an impromptu New Years Eve party full of copious amounts of alcohol and music older than Richie’s parents.

Richie takes a sip of his drink and tries to reason with himself, tries to convince himself that there’s nothing all that special about watching Eddie move so loosely. There’s nothing captivating about his plaid pajama bottoms or yellow camp t-shirt with a stretched out collar that, every now and then, gives Richie a teasing and heart-wrenching glimpse of a collarbone.

Bill, also loose in a way that can only be attested to alcohol, joins Eddie when the next song starts, and Richie’s throat constricts.

He turns away hastily, heat rising in his cheeks, and moves over to the table where he’d stashed all the soda and alcohol. He pours a Jack and Coke that’s lighter on the soda than it should be, and squeezes his eyes shut.

It was manageable, he thinks, when it was just a crush. When he could attest his interest in Eddie as a desire to understand what made the guy so high-strung all the time. He was curious about the doctor with the Gucci loafers who had gained a sudden interest in going into outer space. It was easier, then, to blame Richie’s insatiable desire to spend time with Eddie on a need to pick him apart.

It’s less easy, now.

Now that Richie can’t deny that he has been on the fast track to falling in love with Eddie ever since he laid eyes on him. It took nine goddamn months for Richie to fall head over heels, and the unfortunate reality is that he’s still got fifteen months of training and a year and a half of space travel left to spend in close quarters.

He takes a hard sip of his drink and tries to reason with himself.

_ You don’t love him, _ he thinks desperately. _ You’ve never even been in love before, Rich. This can't be love. _

Richie turns, and across the room Eddie is no longer dancing but he is already looking back at Richie. When he catches Richie’s eye, his face goes soft, and his grin lingers in the corners of Richie’s vision even when he looks away.

Eddie beckons him over with a soft head tilt and a subtle wink, and Richie’s heart is on the floor.

_ Fuck, _he thinks, and he knows he’s doomed.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 446 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ I didn’t realize how thin I’ve gotten until I tried on one of Eddie’s hoodies and it fit. _

_ I mean, I’m a bit taller than him, so it doesn’t hit where my hoodies normally hit me, but other than that I fit right in. Guess it makes sense. I’ve been on a shockingly bland diet of tiny rationed potatoes. It makes sense, but it still came as a surprise. I’m terrified to find out what else is happening with my body that I’m not aware of. _

_ The crew has their work cut out for them if I make it back on the Hermes. Right about now I’m kind of wishing Eddie wasn’t the doctor on the crew, because I’m kind of mortified for him to see me like this. _

_ God. I probably sound so vain. I’m making history up here, and I’m concerned about what the object of my affections might think of me if he could see me. _

_ Whatever. I’m terrified for them all to see me. God knows some days I don’t recognize myself. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 448 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ I can’t sleep. _

_ Tomorrow, I officially leave the Hab. It’s terrifying knowing that this is my last night here. Don’t get me wrong, I’m relieved to escape the literal constant fear of my duct tape wall tearing open and murdering me on the spot, but… _

_ Everything changes tomorrow. And if I fucked up my calculations by even a little bit, then I’ll die before I get to see my crew again. That shit weighs on a person, dude. _

_ Since I can’t sleep, I made a packing list. Most of this shit is already on the rover so I guess this can’t really classify as a “packing list” but hey, the action of making it calmed me down. _

_ Dear god, I think I’m turning into Stanley! _

_ FOOD: 1650 potatoes plus my vitamin pills. _

_ WATER: 620 liters. _

_ SHELTER: Rover, trailer, “bedroom”. _

_ AIR: 14 liters liquid 02, 14 liters liquid N2. Conveniently stored in the Rover and trailer combined storage. _

_ LIFE SUPPORT: Oxygenator and atmospheric regulator. 418 hours of use-once CO2 filters for emergencies, which I should definitely anticipate. _

_ POWER: 36 kilowatt-hours of storage, as well as 29 solar cells carried on Rover and trailer combined. _

_ HEAT: 1400-watt RTG (yay, plutonium!) Electric heater in Rover as a backup, but that shit eats power, so that’s only for emergencies _

_ CLOTHES: My EVA as well as two backup EVA suits. Every hoodie I could find that fits. My eccentric collection of NASA t-shirts NOT provided by NASA. Every pair of socks and underwear ever. _

_ CAFFEINE: Only three caffeine pills left to take. _

_ SHITTY POP MUSIC: Lifetime supply thanks to Eddie and Ben. _

_ God, I’ve always been a shitty packer. I really hope I’m not forgetting anything. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 448 [Cont., text] - Tozier, R**

_ Oh my god, I forgot the toilet. Jesus Christ that could have been so bad. I need to go find a plastic box with a REALLY good lid. Fuck. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**VIDEO LOG: SOL 449 - Tozier, R**

_ [Tozier is silent as he sits in front of the camera. Behind him, the Hab has been stripped bare. Sections of the canvas have been cut and reglued, leaving certain areas lopsided. Behind him, all of his crewmate’s boxes neatly line the wall. The work they were supposed to complete during their time on Mars has also been neatly organized and stacked.] _

“Today’s the day.”

_ [He takes a shuddery breath and pauses to cough, violent-sounding and body-shaking. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and finally looks up at the camera.] _

“It’s time to leave for Schiaparelli. Everything is packed. I mean, everything was mostly packed anyway, because the last two hundred sols have been dedicated to me finding a way to make everything fit into the Rover and the trailer, but now I’ve even got the water on board. I’ve taken everything I can out of the Hab, and boxed up everything else. This place officially looks cleaner than it did when we got here. If only my ma could see me now.”

_ [Tozier cracks a hesitant grin. He leans back in his chair. He is half in his EVA suit, clearly preparing to leave.] _

“In a few minutes, I’ll complete the final system shutdowns. _ Sayonara _heaters, lighting, main computer, critical life support components, etc. Everything that’s left that I didn’t steal for my trip.”

_ [He sighs and scrubs at his face, scratching absently at the patchy beard as though he doesn’t really notice that it’s actually there.] _

“I don’t really need to do this. I could leave them on, it’s not like anyone would care. But this is what we were supposed to do, originally, on Sol 31. Completely shut down the Hab and deflate it. Maybe I’m a sentimental fuck, but I feel like I owe it to myself and my crewmates to do this. Call it all homage. One final piece of closure on the Sol 31 none of us got to have.”

_ [Tozier trails off. His eyes go glassy and he looks away from the camera, clearly overwhelmed. He bites his lip and shakes his head once.] _

“God. I’m gonna cry like a bitch when I shut this place down, aren’t I?”

* * *

Richie saves his most recent logs without much ceremony before ejecting the flash drive and shutting the computer down. He hesitates for a moment, staring at the flash drive in his hand. Over four-hundred days of historic logs saved on this tiny little stick, each log meticulously detailing his time on Mars. One day, this could be shown in classrooms. Analyzed to shit and back. He swears under his breath. He never did get around to deleting the embarrassing ones.

He knows he can’t take it with him, but he hesitates in front of the boxes as he tries to decide which one to put it in. His box of personal items is also against the wall, lined up in the same order their names have always been organized, ever since they were all assigned to the mission. The flash drive feels like a weight on his shoulders as it presses into his palm.

“Fuck it,” he whispers, and he puts the flash drive in Eddie’s box.

Richie does not let himself linger over Eddie’s personal items again. He shuts the lid soundly and rests his hand on it one last time.

He zips up his EVA suit the rest of the way. His breath shutters as he puts the helmet on. It’s something he’s done a thousand times, and something he’ll do at least a hundred more, but it still feels strange to him sometimes. As he goes to complete the final shutdown, he hesitates by the bare wall where he’d lined up all their personal items. The blank space makes him feel uneasy for some reason.

He debates with himself for one, two, three short seconds before grabbing a Sharpie off the desk and writing one final message on the wall. He adds his signature at the bottom, as well as _ Sol 449. _It feels more like closure than anything else has so far.

With nothing left to keep him here, he finishes the final systems shut down and watches, silent as everything goes dark. The hum of the computers disappears, the lights go out, and Richie is left staring at the space that once contained all of his friends. The space that once contained his farm, something he will be proud of until the day he dies. The space that almost killed him more than once but somehow, miraculously, kept him alive all this time.

Richie swallows around the lump in his throat.

“Let’s go, Trashmouth,” he whispers to himself, and he turns to face the sunlight.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[JANUARY 2037, EARTH]**

Mindy watches her computer silently as the new satellite images come in. She curls her hands around her mug of tea, and thinks to herself, not for the first time, that quitting coffee has really sucked.

“How’s our boy doing?” Venkat asks, resting a hand on her chair. She clears her throat.

“So far, so good. Sticking to schedule. He’ll drive for four hours before noon, then set up the solar panels to recharge. They charge for thirteen hours, he’ll sleep somewhere during that time, then he’ll start over again.”

Venkat hums. “Has he left us any messages?”

“Status updates, occasionally,” she tells him. “Spells messages out with Morse code and rocks. I’ve learned, in my spare time. Thought it would save us all some time if I knew what the hell he was talking about.”

Venkat smiles at her. “I promise, Mindy, one day you’ll be off babysitting duty. A huge promotion is coming your way.”

She takes a sip of her tea. “It hasn’t been all bad,” she admits. “Feels full circle. I was the one to discover he was still alive, and now I’m the one to make sure he stays that way. Not a terrible way to spend a work day.”

“That’s true enough. Do we estimate he’s still on track for arrival by Sol 500?”

“Maybe a bit sooner, if he keeps this progress up,” Mindy says. “He’s making really good time.”

Venkat nods to himself. “I’ll update the crew. And his parents.”

Mindy doesn’t look away from the screen. Even though they still go, on average, twenty minutes without receiving new images, she’s still reluctant to ever look away. “You’re almost there, Richie,” she murmurs.

She wonders if she can convince Venkat to let her meet Richie one day.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[SOL 463, MARS - JANUARY 2037, EARTH]**

“Did you read today’s updates?” Ben asks. Beverly hesitates from where she’s brewing her cup of coffee, but there’s nothing but open curiosity in Ben’s expression. He gives her a timid smile and her guard goes down.

“I did,” she confirms. She takes her mug and sits across from him. “They said he’s making good time.”

“They did,” Ben agrees. He chews his bite of food slowly.

Beverly runs her finger along the rim of her mug. So far, she’s had this conversation twice—she still hasn’t found a way to make it easier. “Ben,” she starts. “I know things are looking good now but… we need to face the possibility that Richie might not make it to Schiaparelli. If that happens…”

Ben swallows thickly. “Commander, I say this in total disclosure, but if we don’t rescue Richie, we are going to have to sedate Eddie for the entire journey home.”

Her heart sinks, but she knows he’s right. She dreads having this conversation with Eddie more than anyone else. She wonders, belatedly, if this means that Ben knows, too. It makes the burden of knowing feel a bit lighter. She never knew that being a commander could weigh this much.

“He was dead before,” she says, though she isn’t really sure why. Something about Ben’s presence makes it easier for her to say what’s on her mind in a way she never was able to before. “It was rough, we all suffered, but we soldiered on. I love Richie, I really do, but… I agree, that Eddie is going to take it the hardest. If this goes wrong. Eddie and perhaps even Stan.”

Ben gives her a sad smile. “All due respect, but I believe we will all take it hard if this happens again.”

Beverly closes her eyes. He’s right, and she knows it, but the unfortunate reality is that everyone else on this ship could survive without Richie. They’d mourn, hell, maybe for years. They’d never truly be the same. But they would be able to move on. 

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, then,” she murmurs.

“Have a little faith, Beverly.”

She lets out a small laugh and opens her eyes, peering at him curiously. “Hanscom, in the years you’ve known me now, when have you ever known me to be religious?”

Ben shrugs. “I’m not saying have faith in God. I’m saying have faith in Richie goddamn Tozier. Look at everything Mars has thrown at him, and look at how he has survived it. He’ll survive this, too. You and I both know there’s not a person alive who is more stubborn than Richie.”

They both hesitate for a moment, and their faces crack into similar grins before they both say, “Except maybe Eddie.”

Beverly throws her head back and laughs.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 477 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ Today I watched the horizon, something I’ve had a lot more time to do recently. Mars may terrify me, and I sure as hell won’t ever want to come back if I make it off, but it’s goddamn beautiful. _

_ I took in the climbing hills and the rust-colored dirt and the expansion of an area that has never before been seen, in person, and I thought about how lucky I am. Lucky to be alive, I guess. I don’t know. It felt half-hysterical to think, because no luck landed me here. But I’ve stayed alive. And I’m making so much fucking history I’m almost sick with it. No one is ever going to forget my name, and that terrifies me. _

_ But, on the other hand, since there’s no one here to tell me I can’t—I’ve named a few areas after myself. I figure, hey, I’m making history, might as well claim some territory while I’m at it. _

_ I had the luxury of watching Phobos arch through the sky today as well. Truly one of the most spectacular things I’ve ever seen. There’s so much beauty out here. I’ve been overwhelmed recently with remembering how much I love space. I will always be the geeky kid in the coke-bottle glasses who looked up at the stars and stretched on his tiptoes, hoping that if he stretched far enough or grew tall enough, he’d be able to reach them. I will never stop being amazed by the vast beauty of these places we have yet to explore. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 477 [Cont.,text] - Tozier, R**

_ Here’s the thing, though. _

_ I’ve seen the stars. I’ve touched the red rock. I’ve watched Earth grow small and distant out the window of a ship in space. I have experienced beauties that not everyone is lucky enough to experience, and still none of it compares. _

_ None of it fucking compares. _

_ Sorry, cosmos, you ain’t got shit on Eddie Kaspbrak. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 498 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ I rolled the fucking Rover. _

_ I’m a goddamn idiot. _

_ Jesus, the whole crew always told me I was the worst fucking driver, but I didn’t believe them, because hey, I haven’t crashed a car yet! _

_ Well, joke’s on fucking me. I didn’t roll a car. I rolled NASA’s golf cart and my converted golf cart trailer. _

_ I got bounced around a bit in the roll, but because I’ve got great fucking instincts, I curled into a ball to protect myself. Real heroic. Stuff of legends. Honestly, I can’t wait to see the action scene of this particular downfall. _

_ But hey, it worked! I’m not hurt. _

_ The pressure vessel is still intact, though, which I’m wildly thankful for. There’s no visible leaks. All my tanks stayed sealed. Driving controls look okay too, especially since the nav computer is informing me that Rover is at an “unacceptably dangerous tilt”. _

_ Thank god! I had no idea, Nav! _

_ I’m about 220 kilometers from the MAV, which is fucking annoying since I have to stop now and clean up my crash site. I just hope the trailer and solar panels are still good. If anything broke there, I’m really fucked. _

_ Yeah, yeah. I’m typing out a log update instead of doing work. Get up, Richie! Stop dreading the inevitable! _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 502 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ That stupid little fender bender cost me four sols. Luckily, I’m back in action!... _

_ If action is an OVERWHELMING speed of 5kph. _

_ The trailer was completely tipped upside down, but the Rover was just on its side. I managed to right both of them, though I’m pretty sure my entire body is going to be sore for days now. Three solar panels cracked, which is a bummer. Luckily I brought an extra, so I’m not really down. The critical components work just fine, and the hoses that connect the Rover and the trailer are now reconnected. I had to replace the tow hook since that thing was fucked to all shit, but luckily I had a spare from the trailer that I just transferred to the Rover. _

_ So now I’m good to hit the road again. Except, what caused my reckless driving was hitting a powder pit at 25kph, and I can’t let that happen again. I’m lucky that nothing was seriously damaged during this one. So now I get to crawl, basically, and hope that it gives me enough time to react if my tire starts to sink again. _

_ Whatever. I’ll start tomorrow. I’m out of sunlight today anyway. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 503 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ I’m out of the Basin! Thank god. Now I can get back to my regularly scheduled 25kph and feel like I’m fucking going somewhere. Thank god. I’m gonna celebrate with a cold potato. _

_ And by “celebrate”, I mean “strongly swear with every word in my vocabulary and hope that one day I never have to eat them again”. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**VIDEO LOG: SOL 504 - Tozier, R**

_ [Tozier grins wildly at the camera. He is dirty but beaming.] _

“If my estimates are right, I’ll arrive at the crater tomorrow, and to celebrate, I have a few jokes…”

_ [He clears his throat and sits forward, face serious.] _

“Tomorrow night, I’ll sink to an all-new low!”

_ [He makes a face at the camera and shakes his head.] _

“No, I can do better. Tomorrow night, I’ll be at rock bottom!”

_ [He hesitates, playing it back over in his head. Tozier sighs and tilts forward again, eyes full of mirth as he settles on his final joke.] _

“I mean, I feel like I have to say this one. Tomorrow night, I’ll be in Giovanni Schiaparelli’s favorite hole!”

_ [He leans back again and cackles.] _

“God, I love being able to make gay jokes without anyone being up here to stop me.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[SOL 505, MARS]**

The MAV for the _ Ares IV _mission stands at an impressive twenty-seven meters tall, the average height for most MAV vehicles. Despite wind storms, its body gleams in the midday sun. To the astronaut steadily approaching in his own Rover, he wonders half-hysterically if he’s imagining the way that it seems to glow.

His rover kicks up dirt as it approaches the MAV steadily, and it comes to a halting stop about twenty meters from the MAV’s body. For a moment, there’s stillness on the surface of Mars. On the inside of the Rover, Richie frantically tries to connect his helmet to his suit so he can see the MAV up close.

His foot gets caught as he tries to climb out of the airlock, causing him to fall. He pants out one frantic, pained breath before scrambling to his feet and frantically moving towards the MAV.

Richie comes to a stop in front of it, arms dangling uselessly by his side, as he takes it in. This is the vessel that will save him, indefinitely. This is the thing that will reunite him with his greatest friends and his truest love. 

“Fuck,” he gasps out, and the spell he was under breaks. He leaps into the air, throwing his fist up, and he screams out, “Fuck, _ fuck, _ I made it! _ I made it!_”

Frantically, he runs around the base of the MAV, touching every part he can get his hands on reverently and alternating between screaming and jumping in the air time and time again. He runs his gloved hand along the sleek exterior and takes in the NASA logo at the bottom.

“I fucking did it,” he breathes out, and his voice is thick with emotion.

With nothing left to do but stand here and continue to cry, Richie makes his way to the ladder and begins to climb. He enters the airlock for the MAV and, feeling safer than he has in almost three hundred sols, seals the door tightly behind him.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[1307] HOUSTON:** ** _ Congratulations from everyone here at Mission Control! Well done, Tozier! We are relieved to hear from you again. What’s your status?_ **

**[1321] MAV:** ** _ Thank you SO much! It’s a fucking relief to me, too. No health or physical problems. Rover and trailer are pretty worn out but still functional. I’m sure you saw the crash. Oxygenator and regulator both working fine. Still have plenty of water and potatoes left. I’m good to last until Sol 549._ **

**[1336] HOUSTON:** ** _ Glad to hear it. Hermes is still on track for the Sol 549 flyby. We’ll have the modifications for the MAV ready to give to you by the end of the day. As you know, the MAV will have to lose a significant amount of weight to make the intercept._ **

**[1350] MAV:** ** _ Copy that, Houston. Extreme Makeover: MAV Edition. _ **

* * *

Richie’s jaw drops open when he finally receives the modifications, included in an otherwise unassuming email from the data dump. He’d opened it first, because his heart threatened to pound out of his chest when he saw emails from his mother, his favorite college biology teacher, and the crew, but now he’s thinking he should have started somewhere else.

This is some of his first communication with the people on Earth in over two hundred sols, and _ this _is what they send to him.

He’s practically hyperventilating by the time he finishes reading through all of the details.

“Are you _ fucking _kidding me?”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**VIDEO LOG: SOL 505 - Tozier, R**

_ [Tozier stares at the camera with a look of disbelief. His eyebrows are raised high, distraught.] _

“These JPL guys are gonna get me fucking killed.”

_ [He lets out a startled laugh. He looks like he might be in shock.] _

“I know what they’re doing. I _ know _what they’re doing. They keep saying, ‘Oh, Richie, you’ll accelerate faster than any man in the history of space travel’ like this is a good thing. Like that’ll distract me from how fucking insane their plan is. Oh, really, guys? I get to be the fastest man in the history of space travel?”

_ [Tozier scoffs and rolls his eyes.] _

“They’re launching me into _ space _ in a _ convertible. _No, fuck that, it’s actually worse, because I won’t have any controls. Stanley used to joke that NASA launched us up from Earth in a tin can, and he’d be shitting bricks if he found out that’s what they were actually doing to me.”

_ [The more he talks, the faster he goes on, clearly agitated.] _

“Oh, and by the way, physicists don’t even _ use _words like “fast” when they’re describing acceleration, because they’re fucking physicists. Which means they’re only doing it in hopes that I won’t tell them to fuck right off, because I like the way ‘fastest man in the history of space travel’ sounds. Well, you know what, you bureaucratic, manipulative dickweeds?”

_ [Tozier stops and glares at the camera. He crosses his arms then, almost petulantly, he sighs and drops his gaze.] _

  
“I do like it. I do like the way it sounds. Fuck. _ Fine, _then. I’m on board.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> captain's log:  
it's only been two days so no exciting updates on my life, except for that today i unburied my car from about eight inches of snow. very thrilling. to celebrate i warmed up with a cup of tea and lots of editing to post this chapter way soon after i posted last chapter.  
i... can't believe it, but the rescue is next chapter! holy shit. my estimate that there will be nine chapters is looking to be accurate, so here's to hoping. not to mention i have. uh. at least three sequels planned. maybe. probably. definitely.  



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is over 11k long consistent word count who idk her... i considered posting this in two parts but i promised y'all the reunion would happen this chapter and i am Following Through
> 
> also slight warning for suicidal ideation once again. richie has a plan in place in case the rescue goes poorly. (spoiler alert: it doesn't!)

**[SOL 509, MARS - MARCH 2037, EARTH]**

“You killed Richie,” Beverly states.

Ben suppresses a sigh, deciding instead to scowl heavily at his monitor. It’s not an expression any of his crewmates are used to seeing on his face. The words _ collision with terrain _blink back at him innocently, like they aren’t here to personal mock him. “I did,” he agrees.

“Blame me,” Mike offers. “I gave him a malfunctioning altitude readout and cut Engine Three out too early. That’s a deadly combo.”

“No,” Ben tells him. “It shouldn’t have led to mission failure. I should have noticed the read-out was wrong, it was way off. I could have corrected.”

Beverly squeezes his shoulder. “Don’t sweat it. This is why we drill.”

“Yes, Commander,” Ben agrees, but he doesn’t look away from his screen. His grip is still tight around the controls.

“Hanscom,” she says firmly. She waits a few seconds before he finally tears his gaze away, looking up at her sheepishly. “Don’t beat yourself up. They gave you, what, two days of remote launch training? This was only supposed to happen in an emergency situation. It wasn’t mission critical, so it wasn’t drilled into your brain. You’ve got three weeks to master this now, though, and you’re getting better every time.”

Ben’s expression softens. He gives her a kind smile, and she smiles back reassuringly. “Yes, Commander,” he says again, but his tone is noticeably absent of the hard edge it contained before. 

Mike clears his throat and startles the both of them out of it. “Resetting the sim. Anything specific you want to try, Benny?”

Ben sets his shoulders again and reaches for the control. “Surprise me.”

Beverly gives both of their shoulders one last squeeze before making her way out of the room. She heads towards the center of the ship, gradually losing centripetal force until she floats into the center and finds Bill bent over the computer console. He looks up at her in surprise.

“Commander,” he greets.

“How are the engines?” she asks.

Bill glances back at the computer. “Working within t-tolerance. Stan will be here in a few m-m-minutes to run the diagnostics on the reactor.”

Beverly nods, relieved. “That’s excellent. How’s our course?”

“No adjustments necessary,” Bill says proudly. “Still on track to p-planned trajectory within… four meters.”

He grins from ear to ear when she raises her hand for a high five and obliges happily. She smirks back at him. “You’re doing great work, Denbrough. Keep me posted if anything changes. I want an update from Stan, too.”

“You know, you could ask me yourself,” Stan deadpans. He floats by Beverly and shoots her a teasing wink. “I am able to communicate with you.”

Beverly raises an eyebrow. “Tell that to the guy who got so flustered he spilled his drink all over his girlfriend when he first met me.”

“She married me anyway,” Stan reminds her.

Beverly pats his cheek as she floats past him, making her way out the same way she came in. “Uris, I want an update on the diagnostics once it’s run,” she says firmly, and she salutes both of them on her way out. Their laughter echoes in her ear.

She reaches gravity again as she heads out the other side of the core, headed towards the Airlock 2 ready room. For as long as she’s been on _ Hermes _and adjusted to centripetal force, she doubts she’ll ever get over the dizziness that comes from going back and forth. She steadies herself against a wall and takes a deep breath to clear the nausea.

Eddie doesn’t look up when she enters the ready room, focused on the coil of metal wire in his hands. “Kaspbrak,” she greets.

“Commander,” he says back. He puts the wire down and looks up at her. “What’s up?”

Beverly leans against a wall of the ready room. “I want to know what your plan is for recovering Richie once we get to the intercept.”

Eddie’s hands falter from where he’d been reaching for his work gloves. A beat passes before he shakes himself together and continues to grab them, clearing his throat as he does. “It’ll be easy enough as long as the intercept is good. I just finished attaching all of our tethers into one long line. It’s two hundred and fourteen meters long, which means we have plenty of room to spare. I’ll have the MMU pack on, so moving around will be easy—”

“You’ll have it?” Beverly asks.

Eddie scowls. “I’m the EVA specialist, Commander, it’s my job to do this.”

“Eddie,” she says gently. “I promised you that I wouldn’t let your feelings change how I treat you or this mission going forward, but it’s a valid concern that your emotions will dictate your ability to do this. Are you sure this is something you can handle?”

“I _ have _to be the one to rescue him, Beverly,” Eddie says sharply.

Beverly raises an eyebrow. “How fast of a relative velocity can you handle once you get to Richie?”

Eddie’s face falters at the change of topic, but he only hesitates for a second before he has the answer she needs. “I can grab the MAV easily at five meters per second. Ten meters per second would be like jumping onto a moving train. If it’s anything more than ten, I might miss.”

“So we need to get the ship within twenty meters per second of his velocity before the intercept,” Beverly states.

“And we’ll have to be within two hundred and fourteen meters.”

“Give or take.”

Eddie’s face pales, but his expression doesn’t slip. Beverly might almost be impressed by it. “W-what?” he asks. He shrugs on his work gloves instead of looking her in the eye, and it’s the confirmation she needs.

“You aren’t going to say it out loud, Eddie, but I know what you’re thinking. Two hundred and fourteen meters isn’t a hard limit, right? That’s what you’re thinking? That if we aren’t within intercept range you’ll just double or maybe even triple the range by untethering?”

Eddie’s mouth drops. “Commander, I—”

“Kaspbrak, that _ isn’t _ an option,” she says sharply. “We are all willing to do more than we should to rescue Richie, and you _ know _that, but untethering is not a fucking option. We have no guarantee that we could get you both back at that point. Eddie, are you sure—”

“Commander, don’t you dare ask me if I’m sure I can handle this,” Eddie snaps. “I’m _ not _ sure. Is that what you want to hear? I don’t fucking know if I can do this! I don’t know if I’ll freeze up when it comes down to it! I do know that Richie could fucking die, and I do know that I’m so goddamn scared I can’t breathe. I do know that I love him—I _ love _ him, Beverly!—and I do know that if the roles were reversed, he would do it for me. So I have to. _ I have to_.”

Beverly straightens her back. “Kaspbrak,” she says loudly. His mouth snaps shut and his eyes go wide. “I know that you’re scared and desperate, we’re all feeling that way. Which is why I know that you meant no disrespect, but I am your commander, and I need you to listen to me. You might be too close to this.”

In a small voice, Eddie says, “You said we were _ all _too close to this,” and it cuts right through her.

Her expression softens. “I know, Eddie,” she says. “And we all damn well might be.”

Eddie sits down heavy on the ground and covers his face with his gloved hands. “Yes, Commander.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**VIDEO LOG: SOL 526 - Tozier, R**

_ [Drenched with sweat and half out of his EVA suit, Tozier sits in front of the camera. His face is red as he pants for breath.] _

“My guess is there aren’t very many people who can say they’ve vandalized a three-_billion_-dollar spacecraft. I’m one of the lucky fucks who can.”

_ [Tozier wipes a thin layer of sweat off his forehead and cringes at it.] _

“I’ve yanked critical hardware out of the MAV from every goddamn direction. Threw out the easy stuff first, obviously. Then the crew seats. Then the control panels. Then, naturally, the backup systems. I won’t need the controls since Ben will be piloting me like he’s the proud owner of a Ken doll and his matching convertible, but the backup systems? Really, NASA? Way to kick a guy in the dick when he’s already down.”

_ [He shifts forward and there’s an audible crack as his back pops. Tozier lets out a loud, pained groan.] _

“Jesus Christ. I was literally just about to say it’s been kind of fun murdering the MAV, but now I’m just gonna think about that pop for seven straight hours. Holy fuck, I’d kill for a chiropractor right now. Oh my god. Jesus, did you hear that? I know I’m getting up there in years but I feel like a goddamn ninety-year-old in need of a spine replacement. Is that a thing?”

_ [Tozier puts a hand on his back and groans again as he tries to pop the other side.] _

“God, I’ve got to remember to ask that. Dr. K, is a spine transplant a thing? I’m gonna need the youngest, healthiest spine you can fucking get.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 529 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ I’m having a good time taking my rage out on the MAV though. I kind of feel bad, because she was beautiful before I started this. But now it’s good therapy. _

_ Hell. I can only imagine how much of the real shit I’ll need if I make it outta here. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 536 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ I’m turning water into rocket fuel, which is probably one of the coolest things I’ve ever said. _

_ It’s pretty easy, I mean, all things considered. If I broke it down for you it probably wouldn’t sound easy, but hey, you’re talking to the guy who managed to grow crops on Mars. Who converted one rover into a trailer and another into a portable Hab. Hell, I even found a way to fix a gaping hole in the Hab so that it could repressurize again. _

_ NASA asked me to start saving my urine, too, because I can electrolyze that. Which is disgusting, but… _

_ If I survive this, I’ll get to tell people I was pissing rocket fuel. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[SOL 542]**

Richie fiddles with a strap on his EVA suit, unable to keep still. It feels a bit absurd, being suited up while sitting inside the Rover, but he doesn’t dwell on it too hard. The sweat and the discomfort is worth it. He’s just glad he doesn’t have to wear the helmet.

There’s a crackle of static in his ear. His heart leaps into his throat.

“_Hello? Richie?_”

“Holy shit,” he gasps out. His voice breaks. “Stan?”

“_Holy shit,_” Stan echoes. On the other end of the comm, he lets out a disbelieving laugh. “_Richie. Richie, hi, god almighty. It’s so good to hear your voice._”

Richie tries to laugh but it comes out strangled, choked by the sob that rattles his ribcage. He has to reach forward and squeeze the dashboard of the Rover, desperate for something solid under his hands so he can believe that this is real. Tears fall hot and hard from his eyes, and he is powerless to stop them. “Stan,” he manages to say, in between the sobs that won’t stop coming from his throat. “Jesus. Sorry. Holy shit. I can’t believe they’re letting us talk.”

“_We’re only twenty-three light seconds away, which is the only reason we’re even able to talk,_” Stan says dryly. It’s so painstakingly _ Stan _ that Richie has to put his fist against his mouth to stop from crying out loud again. "_Richie?_”

“I’m here,” he says frantically. “God, don’t… please don’t go anywhere, Stan.”

Stan makes a punched-out sound. “_I__’m not,_” Stan promises. “ _’m not going anywhere, Rich._”

“Good,” Richie whispers. He wipes fruitlessly at his eyes. “That’s good. You know, I’m shocked they’re letting you talk to me at all, I never thought they’d cave.”

The comm is quiet for a moment, just long enough that Richie has half a second to worry that they lost connection, before Stan speaks again. “_The psych team was worried,_” he admits. Richie wonders if anyone else would have told him this. “_We got approval today._”

“What, are the people from the looney bin worried I’ll start screaming at everyone for abandoning me on a godforsaken planet with no chance of survival?” he jokes.

“_You’re not funny,_” Stan informs him, which just sets Richie off again.

“I think I’m very funny,” Richie counters, but it comes out blubbery in between his crying.

“_Rich,_” Stan says, sounding anguished.

Richie expected a lot of things to happen, when he’d finally get to talk to someone voice to voice. He knew he’d cry. He figured that it would feel like his heart was punched right out of his chest before being put right back. He didn’t expect it to hurt. He didn’t expect it to feel like the entire force of a planet was sitting on his lungs and demanding he feels it, demanding he feels _ everything _right now. They are seven sols away from being reunited, and Richie has survived over five-hundred sols without them so far, and it has been too much. He misses them in an unbearable way.

“Thank you,” he chokes out. He gasps for air and he stops trying to wipe at his eyes and he clings to whatever he can hold onto in front of him. In seven sols he will get to cling to _ them. _“Thank you for coming back for me. Jesus Christ.”

He expects Stan to make a joke. He expects a disbelieving laugh or a teasing remark or any sharp retort that has become Stan’s trademark, but that is not what he gets. Instead, he gets the gentle, shocked-sounding gasp of, “_We had to. It’s you, Richie. Of course we had to._”

There’s an edge of hysteria in his laugh that neither of them comment on. Richie’s grateful for it. “I love you guys,” he states. It feels like he’s admitting a secret, despite the fact that he’s been saying it ever since he met them. He’s said it a thousand times, he’s certain he’ll say it a million more. “I love you guys so fucking much.”

“_Don’t get sappy on me right now, Tozier, I can’t go back to the crew looking like I’ve been crying,_” Stan warns. “_Asshole. How’s the MAV retrofit going?_”

Richie forces himself to take a deep breath. It takes the edge off, makes him feel less frantic. There’s still a part of him that’s terrified the connection will cut short and he’ll lose them, _ again, _ so he focuses on his breathing. Forces himself to think before he answers Stan’s question. “Pretty good so far. I’m having the time of my life tearing NASA’s shit apart. Kinda therapeutic, you know? A real _ fuck you _ to the guys who stuck me up here in the first place. I’m basically throwing everything out of the MAV. Shit’s not easy, though. This stuff is heavy as fuck even in Mars-g.”

The rest of what he was going to say dies in his throat when he hears something crash to the floor on the other end of the comm. Stan lets out an indigant shout, and a voice says, “_Stanley, what the fuck?_” and Richie’s stomach bottoms out.

His mouth opens desperately but no sound comes out.

“_Did you forget how to walk? Or did you just think it’d be fun to crash into my work station?_” Stan asks sharply.

“_I’m not the one up here having secret fucking conversations, what the fuck! Were you gonna tell any of us that you got the system set up? Jesus Christ! Other people want a chance to talk to—Richie? Richie?_”

Richie is pretty sure his heart has been catapulted straight out of his chest and twenty-three light seconds away. His hands start to shake.

“Eds?” he croaks.

“_Don’t fucking call me that,_” Eddie snaps. His voice is clearer. “_Holy shit. Richie?_”

“Eddie,” he whispers.

Eddie makes a sound that might be a sob. Desperately, Richie’s hand twitches, reaches for his computer, as though by touching it Eddie would be able to feel it. God, he can’t _ breathe, _ he’s absolutely _ dying _here. Mars has tortured him since the day he woke up alone, he has walked through the valley of death and he has demanded to make it out alive, and none of it hurts like this. None of it even fucking compares.

“_You’re a goddamn asshole, you know that, Richie?_” Eddie snaps. His voice is thick and shaking and Richie is certain, now, that he is crying. He has never felt more powerless. “_It’s just like you to go off and make us all think you’re fucking dead. If I find out this was just an elaborate prank, I’ll fucking murder you, you asshole, I’m so fucking glad you’re alive. You’re such a dick._”

“I missed you too,” Richie says, and it’s the most sincere thing he’s said to date. 

Eddie’s voice dies out. The breath he takes sounds shuddery even over the comm line. Richie blinks and a fresh round of tears start to fall from his eyes. “_I do miss you,_” Eddie admits, and it doesn’t even sound grudging. Richie’s heart is pounding so hard he can feel it in his fingertips. “_I’m really fucking glad you’re alive. I meant that, when I said it._”

Richie chokes out a laugh. “Eddie my love, I return that sentiment wholeheartedly.”

“_You haven’t changed at all,_” Stan sighs. “_For the record, I miss you, too. I might damn well kiss you on the mouth when I see you again._”

“_Don’t you fucking dare,_” Eddie hisses, and Richie laughs. He laughs so hard his stomach lurches and aches and tears pool in his eyes again. Nothing has changed but everything is different, and amidst it all Richie feels more hopeful than he has in over five-hundred sols. These are his people, his best friends, the love of his life. These are the people who sacrificed everything for him.

These are the people that will save him.

“I’ve really fucking missed you guys,” Richie whispers.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 546 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ I’m… done? _

_ I really think I’m actually done. _

_ Today I checked off the final box on the big ass list NASA gave me. The MAV is ready to fly, and in three days, it’s going to. At least, I hope it’s going to. Holy shit. I really fucking hope that thing flies. _

_ It might not. I removed an engine (sidebar, hey NASA, what the FUCK?). I could have fucked all kinds of things up during that. Lucky for me, there’s absolutely zero tests that can be run right now to see if it’ll actually fly. Once the ascent stage is lit, it’s lit. You’re going. _

_ NASA’s still gonna run their tests though, and most-assuredly they won’t tell me a damn thing. Probably for the best. I don’t know what the odds are. Probably not great. _

_ Well. No telling now. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 547 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ So now that I’ve finished, I get to play a waiting game. There’s something really obnoxious about sitting on the surface of Mars basically just twiddling your thumbs after you’ve spent a billion sols fighting your ass off to survive. I take walks sometimes, but I never go too far. Not much to sightsee. I started cleaning up, since I have the time. It’s not like I’ll be taking this stuff with me and I almost feel bad leaving it a mess. _

_ Look at that, Ma! Guess I finally kicked that bad habit you’ve always hated. _

_ The crew keeps trying to find time to talk to me, but they’re all busy trying to prepare for rescuing me, or whatever, I guess. I don’t mind. I miss them more than I can even fucking articulate, but sometimes… I don’t know. _

_ Sometimes when I think about talking to them again, my chest feels tight and my pulse feels frantic. I think it’s a panic attack but I’m not one for self-diagnosis. I’ll leave that to Eddie. _

_ I can’t believe we’re two days away. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**LOG ENTRY: SOL 548 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_ Eds, _

_ Maybe it’s stupid to write you one last letter but I hope this one you actually get to see. Nothing encrypted, nothing typed out and deleted, nothing written on a piece of paper and tucked into your box of personal items and abandoned in a Hab far, far away. Just me. Just honestly. _

_ For once. Can you believe that? _

_ Tomorrow’s the day. I’ll be leaving Mars one way or another. In case it’s the way none of us want to talk about, I have to say it. _

_ God, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve said it by now. How many times I’ve typed it out or said it to the empty walls of the Hab. If those logs ever get recovered, maybe you already know before you even get to this one. It doesn’t matter. If tomorrow is the end, I feel like I gotta say it one last time. _

_ I’ve been in love with you since the second I met you. I know I’ve got a pretty shitty way of showing it, considering all I’ve down for the last four years is annoy the fuck out of you. Guess I never outgrew that playground love phase where you tug on pigtails to get attention. What can I say? Something about you makes me feel young again. Makes me think all of this would have been worth it. _

_ I do, by the way. Think all of this would have been worth it. Surviving. Fighting tooth and nail to make it back to you. It’s been worth it tenfold just to hear your voice. It would have been worth it a hundred billion times if it meant getting to see your face again. I’d do it a hundred more times if it meant I got one more day with you. _

_ So. Here’s to hoping I get that one more day. I hope to god that everything goes right tomorrow. Fuck, I know I deserve some goddamn good luck for once. I hope that by this time tomorrow, I’ll be near you again. That’s all that really matters. As long as I’m near you, I’m okay. _

_ Well… yeah. I’m out of things to say. I never quite mastered the art of ending a love letter. Not that you’d call this that anyway. I mean, it kind of is, since I bore my heart and soul out to you, but whatever. I don’t know. I suck at romance, you can’t tell me you’re surprised by that. _

_ I love you. And I’ll love you forever. Even if I’m lost in the cosmos for the rest of eternity. That won’t ever change, Eddie-Spaghetti. _

_ Love, Richie _

_ (P.S. Hey, NASA: If you release this to the public, I give Eddie Kaspbrak personal permission to murder you. And I’m pretty sure he will, so tread carefully.) _

  
  
  
  
  


**[SOL 548, MARS - FEBRUARY 2037, EARTH]**

“Okay,” Beverly says softly. In front of her, five determined faces stare and listen raptly. Her heart swells a bit with pride for them. Her crew, her mission. The lengths they’ve gone to achieve the impossible. She smiles, unable to hold it back. “Tomorrow is the big day. Hanscom, how do you feel?”

“I’m ready,” Ben says with confidence. “I’ve ran all kinds of scenarios through the sim and I feel ready to go. Prepared for pretty much anything.”

“Anything except catastrophic failures,” Mike adds. He ignores the withering glare Stan shoots at him. “Though there wasn’t much use simulating an ascent explosion. Nothing we could do at that point.”

“Thank you, Hanlon,” Beverly interrupts. His mouth snaps shut and she winks at him. “Denbrough, how’s our course?”

Bill clears his throat. “Perfect. We’re within one meter of projected path, and two centimeters per second of projected velocity.”

He doesn’t stutter once, and his chest swells at that. There’s a confidence in his shoulders that wasn’t there before, and Beverly can’t help but beam back at him. Mike claps a hand on Bill’s shoulder and laughs when Bill gives him a sheepish look in return.

“That’s great,” Beverly says. “Kaspbrak. How’s your end?”

It takes a moment for him to look at her. These past few days have been rough on Eddie, something everyone has noticed, despite his efforts to hide it. His skin is pale, his eyes glazed over, his voice quiet. A few short days ago, he got to hear Richie’s voice for the first time in a year and a half, and from what Beverly can tell he hasn’t quite been the same since.

“Everything’s all set up, Commander,” Eddie finally answers. There’s a steadiness in his voice that doesn’t quite show in his face, but he squares his shoulders anyway and Beverly knows he is ready. “The tethers are all linked and spooled in Airlock 2. My EVA suit and MMU are prepped and ready.”

Beverly nods at him, reassuring. “I know we’ve gone over this a thousand times, but what’s one more just in case? Hanscom will pilot the MAV. Mike will sysop the ascent, Stan will stand by to run the orbital dynamics. Kaspbrak and Denbrough, I want you in Airlock 2 with the outer door open before we even get the MAV in the air. It’ll be a boring hour for you, but it’s better than risking any technical glitches with the airlock or your suits. Once we reach intercept, it’ll be…”

She trails off. Eddie is already looking at her when she turns to catch his eye. Their conversation from days ago still echoes in her ears, and guiltily, she wonders if Eddie actually can do this. He must see the doubts written on her face, because his expression hardens. “It’ll be _ my _job to get Richie,” he finishes sharply. His tone of voice leaves no room for argument. And yet.

“Maybe I should be the one in the MMU,” she suggests. “I’m the commander—”

Eddie snaps, “And I’m the doctor and the EVA specialist and it’s my job, Commander, Jesus Christ, I promise I can do it!”

“He can do it, Beverly,” Stan says gently beside them. Eddie’s expression shudders as he turns to look at Stan in surprise. “Look, I know Eddie. I know all of us. It’s been four years. Any one of us out there is going to be emotionally compromised, but Eddie is right. He has the most training for this, it has to be him.”

Beverly looks at Eddie again. His gaze is much softer now, when she catches it. “It has to be him,” she relents, and Eddie’s shoulders drop in relief. “Kaspbrak, make sure you’re one hundred percent ready to go by the time you strap up.”

“He might be in bad shape when I get to him,” Eddie reminds them all. This was a conversation they had a while back, when Eddie admitted he asked NASA to convene a panel of doctors for him to defer to in case there was something he didn’t feel equipped to handle. It makes them all flinch again now regardless. “The MAV is going to get up to twelve g’s during launch. He’ll most likely be unconscious, he might even have internal bleeding.”

“Then it’s a good thing he’ll have you to treat him once he’s safely on board,” Beverly says firmly. Eddie looks taken aback for a moment before he nods to himself. “Denbrough, if all goes right, you’re pulling Kaspbrak and Tozier back aboard by the tether. If things go wrong… you’re Kaspbrak’s backup.”

Bill nods.

Beverly looks at all their faces one more time. These are the people that she is going to love and lean on for the rest of her life.

“There’s nothing more we can do right now,” she tells them gently. “All we have left is the wait. Your work schedules are cleared for the night. I’m serious. All experiments are suspended. Sleep, if you can. Run diagnostics on your equipment if you can’t.”

“And pray,” Stan adds. The determined look on his face doesn’t waiver as five pairs of eyes turn to him. “If you know how. If you don’t, you can find me. I know none of you are religious. But why not ask for as much help as we can get?”

Beverly gives him a thankful smile. “And pray,” she agrees. “We’re bringing back our boy.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[FEBRUARY 2037, EARTH]**

“Media is camped out on the lawn,” Annie informs the room at large. She fiddles with a button on her jacket, looking more unsure of herself today than she ever has. “Reporters from all over the world. Our press rooms just don’t have enough space.”

Venkat sighs. “The media loves a drama,” he says dryly. “This will be over tomorrow, one way or another.

Beside him, Mitch makes a face. He taps his fingers anxiously on the desk and asks, even though his eyes are already on the large countdown on the screen, “Timekeeper, time until MAV launch?”

There’s a pause on the other end of the comms before the timekeeper replies, “Sixteen hours, nine minutes, forty seconds… mark.”

“Is the large mission clock in the center screen untrustworthy, Mitch?” Venkat asks.

Mitch shoots him a withering glare but doesn’t bother responding.

“He’s nervous,” Annie says. “A rarity for him, but this is what Mitch Henderson looks like when he’s nervous. He’s got to double- and triple-check everything.”

“And you’ll all be thankful for it, if we catch something that’s about to go wrong,” Mitch counters calmly. Mindy presses a mug of hot tea into his hands to still them from tapping out on the desk any longer. He gives her a thankful look.

Annie shifts her weight from foot to foot. “What’s our role in all of this?” she asks. “If something goes wrong, what can we do?”

“Not a damned thing,” Venkat and Mitch say in unison.

Annie’s brow furrows. “_Nothing?_” she repeats.

“It’s all happening twelve light-minutes away,” Venkat tells her. That means it takes twenty-four minutes for them to get the answer to any question they might ask. And the launch is twelve minutes long. They’re completely on their own.”

“And we’re completely helpless,” Annie whispers.

Mitch looks her right in the eye. “Yeah,” he agrees. “It sucks, doesn’t it?”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**VIDEO LOG: SOL 526 - Tozier, R**

_ [Tozier sits in front of the camera, suited up minus his helmet. His face is clean-shaven, and his hair has been cut significantly. Without the beard to hide behind, the gaunt lines of his face are more obvious. There are bags under his eyes and a frightened smile on his face.] _

“Today’s the day.”

_ [He lets out a shaky, exhausted breath. His eyes slip closed.] _

“It’s, like, expected that I’m absolutely shitting myself, right? I’m four hours away from riding a giant explosion into orbit, which is unfortunately not the thing I hoped I’d ride to my death, if you know what I mean.”

_ [Tozier tries to waggle his eyebrows, but only gets halfway through the motion before he cuts off and lets out an exaggerated groan.] _

“Ah, fuck, the crew would kill me for that one. That was bad. I mean, even for my standards. Maybe I’m finally learning shame. Sorry, NASA.”

_ [He gives an aborted shrug. Tozier’s face pinches up, though he is quick to smoothen out his expression.] _

“Listen, this is something I’ve done once or twice before, but never with a mess like this fuckery I’m about to climb in. There’s a big hole in the front of the MAV where the window and part of the hull used to be. No roof, no backup systems, one engine down. There’s my chair and that’s pretty much it. Once I log off of this, I’ll eat my last meal pack. Have myself a proper meal for once.”

_ [Tozier looks guiltily into the lens.] _

“Because I’m a morbid fuck, I counted how many potatoes I have left. Forty-one. That’s how close I came to starvation.”

_ [He represses a shudder that seems to take over his body. There’s a second of quiet before he starts to cough, guttural and pained. It takes at least two minutes for him to catch his breath.] _

“After my final meal, that’s it. I’ll go strap myself into the MAV and wait to be launched up into space. There’s nothing I can take with me, so I’ll leave it all down here. Shockingly enough, there’s not much about this place that I care to remember once I’m gone.”

_ [Tozier trails off. It’s clear the next thing he has to say weighs heavily on him.] _

“There’s no abort procedure. There wouldn’t be a point. We can’t delay the launch. _ Hermes _can’t stop and wait. There’s no abort procedure but I have a contingency plan if… if something goes wrong. If I blow up, that’s not so bad. But if I miss the intercept… I’m not just gonna float until I run out of air. If I missed, I’d drop the oxygen in my suit to zero. Breathing pure nitrogen, I’d suffocate eventually. It would be like getting tired and going to sleep. That doesn’t seem so bad.”

_ [A sob breaks free from Tozier’s throat and he flinches back, like he’s surprised by it. A stray tear falls from his eye.] _

“Fuck. I really hope it doesn’t come to that.”

_ [He wipes absentmindedly at his cheek.] _

“I’m really leaving. I’ve had my last Martian-grown potato. I’ve had my last sleepover in the Rover. In a short while, I’ll leave my last footprints in this shitty, dusty red sand. I’m leaving Mars today, that part’s a guarantee.”

_ [Tozier pauses for just a moment. His voice is thick with emotion when he speaks again.] _

“About _ fucking _ time.”

* * *

On the surface of Mars, one lone astronaut opens his last food ration with shaky fingers. He eats slowly, unable to handle much at a time. His appetite has not been treated like this in a long while. It’s still the best meal he can ever remember having.

He finishes his ration without a word, and adds the empty wrapper to a makeshift garbage can he kept inside his Rover. The astronaut pauses then, hands on his helmet, and stares out at the gleaming metal that will lift him from this planet. He is only three hours out, now, from the time the MAV will launch.

He puts his helmet on. He takes his time getting out of the Rover, and he presses his hand gently to her hull. This is the machine that helped save his life as well. He takes his time saying goodbye.

He says goodbye to all of it.

And when he runs out of reasons to stay, he looks back at the MAV one more time. The only thought on his mind is the reasons he has to leave.

He climbs the ladder to the MAV, and closes the airlock securely behind him.

* * *

Eddie waits anxiously in the airlock.

He’s tethered to a wall-mounted spool, MMU awaiting next to him. He and Commander Marsh decided to wait to put him in the MMU, just in case something happened that needed him more easily untethered. Bill waits with him, boots clamped to the floor. Both of them stare silently, in awe, at the red planet below the opened outer door.

“D-didn’t think we’d be back here again,” Bill comments. Eddie makes a non-committal noise in response. Somewhere down below is _ Richie_. Waiting to come back to them. The very thought makes his heart twist. “But hey, this g-gives us a first.”

This captures Eddie’s attention. He turns slightly. “First what?” he asks.

Bill gives him a small smile. Eddie wonders if it’s forced. “We’re the first people to ever visit Mars twice.”

Eddie blinks. “Holy shit. Yeah.”

Bill opens his mouth to say something else, but they’re interrupted by Hanlon's voice over the comms. All the way back on Earth, anything they say over the comms will be broadcasted to the entire planet. Eddie doubts there’s a single soul on Earth who isn’t listening in. “Fuel pressure green,” Hanlon says calmly. “Engine alignment perfect. Communications five by five. We are ready for preflight checklist, Commander.”

Eddie switches on his comm and watches as Bill does the same.

“Copy,” comes Commander Marsh’s voice next. “CAPCOM.”

“Go,” Hanlon responds.

“Guidance,” Marsh lists off.

“Go,” Uris echoes.

“Remote command,” Marsh says.

“Go,” Hansom calls out.

There’s a moment of hesitation, and Eddie’s heart seizes in his chest again. He is still not prepared to hear Richie’s voice. Marsh says, “Pilot.”

“Go,” Richie chokes out. Eddie tries desperately to keep his own sob in his throat. “Good to hear your voice again, Commander. Thanks for coming back.”

“Least we could do,” Marsh says warmly. “Let me get through this checklist, okay, Rich?”

“Copy.”

“Telemetry,” she continues.

“Go,” Hanlon says again.

“Recovery.”

Eddie’s voice shakes as he answers, “Go.”

“Secondary recovery.”

“Go,” Denbrough says, resolute. Eddie locks eyes with him again and they share a nod. _ It’s time. _

“Mission Control, this is _ Hermes _Actual,” Marsh reports. “We are go for launch and will proceed on schedule. We are T minus four minutes, ten seconds to launch… mark.”

Eddie grabs on to a bar, his stomach swooping suddenly and viciously into his throat. _ Four minutes, _he thinks weakly, and he wonders how the fuck he’s going to do this. It’s too late to back out, he knows this, horrified, but he wonders now if perhaps Beverly was right all along. What if he isn’t strong enough to do this?

“How you doing down there, Richie?” Beverly asks softly.

“Eager to head up your way,” Richie says. “You guys have no idea how desperate I am to annoy the fuck out of you again.”

As suddenly as it came, the doubt depletes in his gut. His chest settles and resolve weighs down on his shoulders, straightening his spine. He _ can _do this, and he has to. For anyone else, maybe he wouldn’t have been able to. But it’s Richie. It would always come to this.

“We’re going to make that happen,” Beverly reassures him. “Hey, don’t be freaked out if you pass out, okay? You’ll be pulling some pretty heavy g’s. Anything could happen. You’re in Hanscom’s hands now.”

“Ben?” Richie calls over the comms.

Ben’s voice is steady when he replies, “Yeah, buddy?”

“No barrel rolls, you asshole,” Richie warns.

Laughter fills Eddie’s ears. Even he’s incapable of stopping the grin that splits his face. Part of him is so desperately relieved that Richie is still, inexplicably, exactly the same.

“Copy that, MAV,” Ben says.

Eddie switches off his comm and turns back to Bill again. He waits for Bill to do the same. “Denbrough,” he says quietly.

“Yeah?” Bill asks.

“If I can’t reach him…” Eddie starts. He trails off, he wonders what the hell he’s doing. He thinks about how desperately he needs Richie to come back. “If it’s too short, I want you to release my tether.”

Bill looks at him in distress. “Eddie, the commander said no to that.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “I know what the commander said, but I’m saying that if I need a few more meters, you need to release me so I can get them. I’ll have the MMU, I can get back without a tether, okay? They trained me for this.”

“Kaspbrak, I _ can’t_.”

“I’m telling you that you _ have _to,” Eddie insists.

“I w-w-won’t risk losing another crewmate!” Bill snaps, and Eddie’s mouth snaps shut. Bill’s eyes flash dangerously, like he might start to cry if pressed too hard. “F-f-_fuck, _ Eddie. I’m c-can’t risk losing another f-f-friend. I did that once. It s-s-s—_fucking damnit, _ it _ sucked, _okay? Not again.”

Eddie’s expression softens. “You’ll lose him again anyway if you don’t let me go,” he reminds Bill. “Please. I have to be able to get him. I _ have _to.”

For a moment, all they can do is look at one another. It’s a crossroads neither of them ever expected to be at. Even if Bill disagrees now, Eddie knows with certainty that his mind would change if it came down to it. He knows all of them would risk almost everything to get Richie back.

Bill reaches out, and Eddie grasps his hand tightly. It isn’t quite the same, with the bulky gloves of the suit, but the sentiment puts a smile on both of their faces regardless. “We all love you, Bill,” Eddie says sincerely. “You won’t lose any of us.”

If Bill was going to say anything else, it gets interrupted by Stan’s voice coming over the comms once again. Eddie thinks the whole world might start to hold their breath. Eddie and Ben switch their comms back on.

“T-minus ten,” Stan says in his ever-calm voice. “Nine… eight…”

“Main engines start,” Hanscom alerts.

“… seven… six… five… Mooring clamps released,” Stan continues.

“Five seconds, Tozier,” Marsh calls out. “Hang on tight.”

Richie’s laugh comes over the line, slightly hysterical. Eddie tries not to flinch. “Commander, hold on to _ what?_”

“… four… three… two…”

“Have we already forgotten that NASA made me tear everything out of—”

Richie’s voice cuts off suddenly, and panic grips Eddie’s chest. He clutches to Bill’s hand, tighter than he means to. “Richie? _ Richie?_”

He is filled with the overwhelming memory of the last time he heard Richie cut off like that, a year and a half ago, on the worst day of his life. All the panic, all the fear, all the tragedy he felt from that point on, comes back and hits him in the chest like the weight of an entire planet striking him all at once.

“Velocity seven hundred and forty-one meters per second,” Stan calls out. “Altitude thirteen hundred and fifty meters.”

“Copy,” Ben says.

“Richie!” Eddie calls out again, desperately. Fear claws at his throat and threatens to tear him apart.

“He just l-l-launched, it’s okay, Eddie, he j-just can’t talk right now,” Bill reassures him. He squeezes Eddie’s hand and the pressure almost brings Eddie back down again.

“He’s low,” Beverly murmurs.

Ben lets out an agitated grunt. “I know. It’s fighting me. Why the hell is it fighting me?”

“Velocity eight hundred and fifty, altitude eighteen hundred and forty-three,” Stan updates them.

“I’m not getting the power I need!” Ben says sharply.

Beverly’s voice rings out above theirs. “Tozier. _ Tozier, _ do you read? Can you report?”

"Okay, I got it. It's not fighting me anymore." Ben lets out a relieved sigh. Eddie feels especially hopeless listening to this all going down over his comms. He imagines this is how everyone on Earth must feel as well. Part of him is frightened to take his eyes off of the red planet below, frightened that if he blinks he’ll miss the moment where he finally catches sight of Richie again.

“He probably passed out,” Eddie reminds them. “He just pulled twelve g’s. Give him a minute or two.”

He’s proud that his voice doesn’t waiver.

“Copy,” Beverly says back. “Uris, do you have his orbit yet?”

“I just got the interval pings,” Stan responds. “I’m working out our intercept range and velocity now. Give me fifteen more seconds.”

“Copy.”

But Stan comes back quicker than the time he asked for, and there’s smugness in his voice as he says, “Got it. Intercept velocity will be eleven meters per second…”

_ Eleven meters. _It’s about what Eddie had expected. “I can make that work,” he says quickly. Eleven meters. That’s nothing if it means he gets Richie back at the end of it.

“Holy shit,” Stan whispers. His voice is choked.

“Uris?” Beverly asks.

The line is quiet as they all wait for Stan’s response. “Distance at intercept will be sixty-eight kilometers.”

“What the _ fuck_?” Bill gasps.

“Did he say sixty-eight kilometers?” Eddie demands desperately. “_Kilometers_?”

“Damnit,” Ben whispers. “Damnit, _ damnit, _Richie.”

There’s a sharp edge in Beverly’s voice as she reminds them all, “Keep it together. Let’s work the program. Hanscom, is there any extra juice in the MAV that could boost him up a little bit?”

“Negative, Commander,” Ben responds. “NASA had Richie remove the OMS system to lighten the launch weight.”

“And it still wasn’t enough?” Eddie snaps, anger rising in his chest.

“Keep it to yourself, Kaspbrak,” Beverly warns him. “If we can get him to us, we just have to get to him. Hanlon, how long do we have until intercept?”

“Thirty-nine minutes, ten seconds… mark.”

Beverly hesitates over the line, then asks, “What if we point our attitude thrusters all in the same direction?”

“Depends on how much fuel we want to save for attitude adjustments on the trip home,” Ben answers.

“Well, how much do you need?”

There’s quiet as Ben works out the math in his head. “I could get by with twenty percent of what’s left.”

“I’ve ran the numbers already,” Stan cuts in, before Beverly gets the chance to ask him to. “If we used seventy-five point five percent of remaining attitude adjust fuel, it’ll bring the intercept range to zero.”

Beverly sighs over the line, relieved. “Do it.”

“Hang on,” Stan interrupts. “It’ll get us to him, but it makes our velocity forty-two meters per second.”

Eddie feels faint. “Holy shit,” he murmurs. There’s no way he’d catch Richie at that speed.

“I don’t care. We have thirty-nine minutes to figure out how to slow down. Hanscom, burn the jets. Tozier, do you read?”

A jolt runs through Eddie as he realizes something. _ This _is something he’s familiar with. Something he can do to help, instead of sitting here feeling useless for the next thirty-nine minutes. “Commander, Richie’s wearing a surface EVA suit, right?”

“Yeah,” Beverly confirms.

Excitement courses through Eddie’s veins. “Then he should have a bio-monitor,” Eddie says quickly. “And he should be close enough that we might be able to pick up the broadcast. Hanlon, can you read?”

“Hell yeah, I’m on it,” Mike says. There’s a grin in his voice that makes Eddie smile, too. “I’ll have to look up the frequencies in the tech specs, so give me a few minutes.”

“While he’s looking that up, did anyone get any bright ideas on how to slow down?” Beverly asks over the comms. “Anything goes at this point.”

“Sorry, Commander,” Stan says.

Bill shakes his head. “No, Commander, I’m sorry.”

“There’s got to be something,” Beverly mutters.

Mike makes an excited noise. “Got the data! Pulse fifty-eight, blood pressure ninety-eight over sixty-one.”

Eddie nods to himself. He swallows around the lump in his throat. “That’s not bad,” he tells them all. “A little on the low side, but he’s been in Mars gravity forever by this point. It’s expected. We’ll just monitor him once he’s aboard.”

There’s a cough over the comm and Eddie’s voice dies out.

“MAV to _ Hermes._”

“Richie,” Eddie gasps out.

“Tozier, do you copy?” Beverly interrupts, voice loud and authoritative. If Eddie had been standing instead of floating in the air, he’s certain he would have tumbled to the ground at the sound of Richie’s voice again. Thick and raspy and _ alive. _

“Affirmative,” Richie says around another cough. “_Fuck._ That you, Commander?”

“All of us are here,” she promises him. The rest of the crew calls out greetings, excited voices clambering over one another. Eddie barely manages to feebly say Richie’s name before a wave of nausea hits his stomach and he gags in his suit. “Tozier, what’s your status?”

Richie lets out a pained laugh. “I’m on a ship with no goddamn control panel, so I’d say my status is pretty damn unclear, Commander. Not much I can tell you other than that, unfortunately. Hey, Ben, what the _ fuck _was that ascent?”

“Twelve g’s, my friend,” Ben tells him.

“Fastest man in the history of space travel,” Richie mutters darkly. “No one told me that it would feel like the weight of an entire fucking planet hitting me.”

“How do you feel?” Eddie asks, voice desperate and rising in pitch as he struggles to be heard over the other voices.

“Eds-Spagheds, is that you?” Richie chokes out. There’s emotion in his voice that Eddie can’t identify, and it makes him grip the wall tighter. Part of him can hardly believe he gets to talk to Richie at all. “My chest hurts. I think I broke a rib. Hurts to breathe. How are you?”

Beverly cuts in over Eddie again, but he finds he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t know what to say, and his throat feels thick with the words he’s too scared to say out loud just yet. “We’re working on getting to you. There was a complication during the launch.”

“Yeah, the canvas fucked right off as soon as the ascent started,” Richie tells her. He grunts and hisses. Eddie wonders what the hell he’s doing. “How bad is it?”

“We’ve corrected the intercept range but now there’s a problem with intercept velocity,” Beverly admits.

Richie groans again. “How big a problem?”

Beverly hesitates again. It’s long enough that Stan chimes in instead, over the comms. His voice shakes. Eddie is almost certain that Stan is crying. “Forty-two meters per second.”

“Well, fuck.”

Eddie runs the numbers in his head, wondering if he could untether and get Richie at his speed and then make it back to the _ Hermes _again. But the MMU’s top speed is twenty-five meters per second, and he’d need to make forty-two there and back. He swears under his breath, too.

“Hey, Commander? I have an idea,” Richie tells her.

Beverly huffs out a laugh. “Of course you do. What have you got?”

Richie pauses for a moment. Eddie’s heart hammers so loudly in his chest he’s surprised the beat of it hasn’t been picked up by the radios yet. “I could find something sharp in here and poke a hole in the glove of my suit. The escaping air could be, like, a thruster. I could fly my way to you. And since the source of the thrust is my arm, I’d be able to fly it pretty easily.”

“Where the fuck do you come up with this shit?” Eddie snaps. “Richie, that’s literally the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“I can’t see you having any control if you did that,” Beverly admits, siding with Eddie. “You’d be eyeballing the intercept and using a thrust vector you can barely control, that doesn’t seem like the best option here. Too many things could cause you to miss.”

Richie snorts. “You raise great points, Commander, but I need you to consider something. I would get to fly around like Iron Man.”

There’s a beat of silence before the crew starts to giggle over the line, each trying to stifle it and remain serious in the face of such uncertainty. Even Eddie lets out a derisive snort before giving Bill a sheepish look. That’s just what Richie does—manages to bring a smile to their faces even in the most intense moments, and never in a way that distracts them from completing their tasks. Eddie loves Richie so fiercely he can hardly believe he survived the last eighteen months without him. He hopes he never has to go another day without Richie again.

“We should have left him down there,” Stan says dryly, and Eddie laughs again.

“Iron Man, guys! _ Iron Man._”

Beverly hums and the line falls silent again. “Maybe it’s not the worst idea.”

“No, it actually is,” Ben interjects.

“Literally,” Eddie agrees. “Literally the worst idea anyone has ever had in the history of ever. It’s a _ terrible _ idea.”

Sounding put out, Richie says, “Thanks for the vote of confidence, assholes.”

“Not his part. That is idiotic,” Beverly says. Richie makes an affronted sound but doesn’t argue with her. “But we could use the atmosphere as thrust… Holy shit. Hanscom, get Denbrough’s station up and running.”

Ben pauses for a moment. “It’s up. What do you need?”

Something over the line clicks, and Eddie realizes Beverly just turned off communications with NASA. The live broadcast is off. There isn’t a trace of a joke in her voice when Beverly says, “I need to know what happens if we blow the VAL.”

“Wait, what the fuck?” Stan asks.

“You want to open the Vehicular Airlock?” Ben asks, voice almost hysterical.

“It would give us a good kick,” Beverly states.

“Sure, and it might blow the nose of the ship off in the process,” Eddie reminds her. 

“And the air,” Stan says frantically. “All of the air would leave. And we need to air. To, you know, keep _ breathing._”

“We’ll seal the bridge and reactor room. Everywhere else can go vacuo,” Beverly says dismissively, like she didn’t just suggest purposely breaching the ship. Eddie knows the lengths to which he would go to rescue Richie, but he wonders what the hell is going through her mind.

“A breach at the VAL would decelerate us by twenty-nine meters per second,” Mike says over the line. “Giving us a relative velocity of thirteen meters per second.”

Beverly asks, “Kaspbrak?”

“I can work with that,” Eddie says in a strangled voice. “It would be risky, but it’s a hell of a lot better than forty-fucking-two.”

“Hang _ on,_” Ben interrupts. “How do we open the airlock doors? There’s no way to open them remotely, and if anyone’s nearby when it blows…”

Beverly hums again. “Denbrough, come back inside. Take your suit off and report to me. Uris, go meet him. I’m gonna need you both to make a bomb.”

“Wait, what?”

“Hold the fuck up,” Richie interjects. “Did you say bomb? You guys are making a bomb without me?!”

“Uris, you’re our chemist. Can you make a bomb with what’s on board?”

Stan makes an affronted sound, like he can’t believe they’re even having this conversation. Eddie’s head feels like it’s going a million meters per second. “Of course I can, I’m a chemist. But I feel _ obligated _ to mention that setting off an explosive device in a spacecraft is historically a terrible, _ terrible _idea.”

“Copy that,” Beverly says calmly. “Can you do it?”

“Can I—” Stan scoffs. “For God’s sake. Yes, I can fucking do it. Denbrough, meet me in the kitchens.”

“Copy,” Bill says, unlatching his boots from the ground.

“Copy,” Beverly repeats. “Turning communications with NASA back on. Kaspbrak, leave your suit on. Denbrough and Uris will meet you at Airlock 1. We’ll open the outer door, and I’ll need you to place the charge on the inner door then climb back to Airlock 2 along the hull.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie mutters. “This is fucking crazy. This is _ fucking _crazy. Copy, Commander.”

“You guys are going to a lot of lengths to rescue lil ol’ me,” Richie chokes out. “I think you’re gonna give Kaspbrak an aneurysm.”

Eddie scoffs. “Fuck off, Tozier. You have no idea what lengths we’d go to if it meant saving you, okay? Of course we’re doing it. Holy shit.”

Richie’s silence on the other line causes Eddie’s heart to hammer in his chest. Eventually, he says softly, “Copy that.”

The line clicks back on as Beverly establishes communication with NASA once again, and she says, “Houston, be advised: we are going to deliberately breach the VAL to produce thrust.”

“Guys, seriously, I don’t like it,” Richie says again. There’s an edge of desperation in his voice. “I think we should just go with my Iron Man idea. You know me, I’m a selfish little fucker. I want all the memorials back home to be just for me. Richie Tozier, national hero. Fuck the other losers on that spacecraft. I can’t let you guys blow the VAL.”

“Oh,” Beverly says in surprise. “Well, if you won’t let us, then… Oh wait. Sorry. Wait a second. I’m looking at my shoulder patch and I just remembered that I’m the commander, so I make the calls. Sit tight. We’re coming to get you.”

Richie huffs out a laugh over the line. “You’re a smart-ass, Commander.”

“Copy that.”

“Bomb is ready,” Stan calls over the line. “Denbrough and I are making our way to the Airlock.”

“Just reached Airlock 1,” Eddie reports. Mike greets him from where he’s bent over the lighting panel, pulling a length of cable out and stripping the ends. “Entering the airlock and depressurizing now.”

“Be careful crawling along the hull,” Mike tells him. His eyes are soft and concerned. Eddie’s expression softens.

“Be careful setting up the bomb,” he says back. “In case it hasn’t become clear by the lengths to which we’re all going to save Richie, the asshole of the group… none of us can stand to lose any of us. Stay safe, Mikey.”

Eddie waited patiently for the airlock to depressurize before opening the outer door and climbing along the hull. He kept his focus on staying attached to the hull, gripping everything he could along the outside of the ship to ensure he didn’t float away. In his ear, his crewmates continue to work through their tasks but he pays them no mind. Richie is silent the whole time, anyway, and Eddie knows deep down that Richie’s voice is the only voice he cares to listen to right now.

He makes it to Airlock 2 faster than he’d expected, but he beats Bill there and has to wait, still holding on to the edge of the hull. He listens to Ben confirm that the adjustment is ready to execute when he finally sees Bill’s face in the airlock, suited up again. It’s another moment for the airlock to depressurize but then Bill’s swinging the outer door open.

“About fucking time,” Eddie grunts. He takes Bill’s hand and lets himself be pulled in.

“F-f-forgive me,” Bill says dryly. “I had to make a bomb.”

“Today’s been kind of a weird day,” Eddie mutters. “Commander, Denbrough and I are in position at Airlock 2.”

“Copy. Get up against the wall, and make sure you’re tethered in. We’re about to go one g for four seconds. Uris, time to intercept?”

Stan, back at his computer once again, reads off, “Twenty-eight seconds.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie says. “We cut that pretty close.”

“Hanlon, are you ready to blow it?”

“Yes, Commander,” Mike reports. “All I have to do is press enter.”

“Strap in, boys,” Beverly says.

Bill helps Eddie strap in to the MMU, securing him tightly and double- and triple-checking the restraints to make sure he’s suited up correctly. Bill gives him a sure smile once he’s secured.

“Ten seconds,” Stan reports. “Nine… eight… seven…”

Eddie reaches out and Bill grasps his hand. They hold tightly to one another. It’s not quite enough, but it’s almost enough to calm his racing heart.

“Six… five… four… three…”

“Brace for acceleration, crew,” Beverly calls out.

“Two… one…”

  
“Activating Lighting Panel 41,” Mike says. “Prepare for VAL breach.”

The VAL breaches, and Eddie and Bill are slammed against the wall of Airlock 2. It’s not the worst force Eddie has ever experienced; in fact, he’s pretty sure it’s less than the force of gravity during their ascents from Earth and Mars, but it is inconsistent and jerky and it knocks the wind right out of him anyway.

Four seconds pass, and the shaking dies down. They return to weightlessness, and Eddie gasps for breath.

“Guys?” Richie asks frantically. “Hey, guys? Do you copy, are you okay?!”

“Copy, MAV,” Beverly says, and Richie lots out a strangled sound that might be a sob. Eddie feels his own throat get choked up in response. “Hanlon, check for damage. Uris, what’s our relative velocity and distance to MAV?”

“We’ll get within twenty-two meters,” Stan reads off. “Relative velocity is twelve meters per second. That’s _ better _than expected thrust.”

With a jolt, Eddie realizes this means he’s up. It’s his turn.

“Tozier,” Beverly says in a voice that can barely contain her excitement. “It worked. Kaspbrak is on his way.”

“Kaspbrak?” Richie repeats, sounding strangled. “Eddie? Eduardo Kaspbrak is coming to save me? Hey guys, what the fuck?”

Eddie chokes on a laugh. “Of course it’s me, asshole, I’m the EVA specialist.”

“Of course,” Richie echoes back faintly.

“Kaspbrak,” Beverly calls out. “You’re up.”

Eddie squeezes Bill’s hand.

He had expected to feel nervous. He had thought that he would reach this point and be too terrified to jump. He was certain that he would feel more anxious than prepared and that this whole thing would be blown by his tendency to overthink. But as he perches himself at the edge of the airlock and stares out at the black sky, there is no uncertainty in his gut. There is only the knowledge that he is twenty-two meters away from holding Richie again. He has waited eighteen months for this. He has suffered through the terrible reality of Richie’s death and he has turned his ship around to rescue him and he is certain, now, that he would do it all again.

The inevitability of it all doesn’t frighten him like he thinks he should.

Of course he is certain. _ Of course _he is ready.

“I’m going to jump out,” he says confidently. “That should get me another two or three meters per second.”

“Copy that, Dr. Kaspbrak,” Bill says. He picks up the tether and gives Eddie a lazy salute. “Good luck, buddy.”

Eddie places his feet on the back wall and bends his knees, coiling. He inhales deeply and closes his eyes.

He leaps on the exhale.

Free of the airlock, he takes a moment to gather his bearings. His heart leaps into his throat as he looks to the right and catches sight of what he couldn’t see from inside the walls of the airlock. Tears spring to his eyes and he chokes out, “I have visual! I can see the MAV!”

It’s nothing like the MAV he is familiar with, the bare bones of a machine once built to house another mission. It weighs on him as he takes it in, everything that NASA made Richie do to get to this point. Everything Richie had to endure.

Eddie thrust on an intercept course, something he’d practiced more times than he could remember. He had trained for this for a much different purpose, but the principle behind it was the same. “Hey, Stan, do you have me on the radar?” he asks.

“Affirmative.”

“Can you call out my relative velocity to Richie every two seconds or so?”

Stan chuckles. “Copy. Five point two meters per second.”

“Hey,” Richie says. “Hey, Eds. The front is wide open. I’ll get up there and be ready to grab at you.”

“Negative,” Beverly interrupts firmly. “Absolutely no untethered movement. That is an order. Stay strapped to your chair until you’re latched to Kaspbrak.”

Richie sighs. “Copy.”

“Three point one meters per second,” Stan calls out.

Eddie nods. “I’m gonna coast for a bit,” he informs them. “Gotta catch up before I slow it down.”

“Eleven meters to target,” Stan says.

“Copy.”

“Six meters.”

Eddie fires the MMU thrusters again. The MAV looms in front of him, large and intimidating. He stares it down and feels like a thirteen year old kid in the face of his childhood bully. He’ll stand up to it this time. He has a reason to fight back. “Counter-thrusting,” he updates them. “Velocity?”

“One point one meters per second.”

“Good enough,” Eddie mutters. He reaches for the ship. His heart could pound right out of his chest, right now, and he wouldn’t even notice. “I’m drifting toward it. I think I can get ahold of some of the torn canvas, if I stretch…”

He reaches, reaches, reaches until he doesn’t think he can stretch any further, and his fingers make contact with the torn canvas. He grips it as tightly as he’s been clinging to his hope.

“Contact,” he gasps out. He pulls his body forward and lashes out to grab hold of the canvas with his other hand. “Firm contact! I have firm contact!”

“Kaspbrak, we’ve passed the c-c-closest approach point and you’re getting further away,” Bill calls out. “You have one hundred and sixty-nine meters of tether left. That gives you f-fourteen seconds.”

“Copy,” Eddie says faintly. He pushes himself up using the ship as leverage and frantically looks inside once his head is above the opening.

_ There. _

His heart settles in his chest. Finally back where it’s meant to be, after eighteen long months.

Richie looks back at him in shock.

Eddie sobs. “Visual on Tozier,” he chokes out.

“Visual on Kaspbrak!” Richie shouts out. His eyes are wide in disbelief, mouth open in shock. Eddie tries to hold himself together for the both of them as he pulls himself into the MAV.

“Richie,” he says, and his voice breaks. He blinks around the tears that fall from his eyes. “_Richie._”

Richie blinks. “Sorry,” he says slowly. “I just… Give me a minute. You’re the first person I’ve seen in eighteen months.”

_ You’re the only person I care about seeing ever again, _Eddie thinks desperately.

“I’m sorry, Rich,” he says, and he means it. He puts his feet on the wall and kicks off, propelling himself towards Richie. “We don’t have a minute. We have eleven seconds before we run out of tether.”

He collides into Richie with more force than is necessary, and he starts to cry all over again when Richie’s hands grip his arms. He holds tight to whatever he can get a good grip on of Richie’s suit. “Contact with Tozier!” he cries out.

“Eight seconds,” Bill warns.

“Copy,” Eddie says. He frees one hand from Richie’s EVA suit and moves quickly, latching their suits together. Richie stares up at him, silent, eyes wide, unable to look away. In any other circumstances, Eddie might feel self-conscious under the scrutiny. Right now he hopes Richie never looks away from him again. “Connected. Releasing his restraints now.”

He unlatches Richie’s tether to the acceleration chair. “Restraints off,” he says giddily. “We’re out of here.”

Eddie kicks off again, pulling them both out the open hole of the MAV and using his free hand to push off again once they pass through. “Confirmed, we are out.”

“Five seconds,” Bill says.

“Eddie,” Richie says.

Eddie’s heart skips a beat in his chest. “Yeah, man?”

Richie shakes his head and clings tighter to Eddie’s arm. “_Eddie,_” he says again. 

Eddie tightens his own grip on Richie’s suit.

“Relative velocity to _ Hermes: _twelve meters per second,” Stan updates. His voice is quiet when he continues on, “Eddie. You _got_ him?”

“I got him,” he confirms. Richie gasps out a sob and Eddie resists the urge to hold onto him even tighter. “Thrusting the MMU now.”

“I’m pulling you in,” Bills says after a beat. “You’ll r-run out of fuel soon.”

As he says it, the controls on Eddie’s heads-up display turn red. “Just ran out.”

“I got you,” Bill promises them. “N-n-not letting either of you go.”

Eddie swallows thickly, filled with an overwhelming gratitude for his crewmates. These are the people who met his determination and desperation. It’s because of them that he has Richie in his arms right now. “Thank you,” he whispers. The words must fall from his lips a thousand times. “Thank you. Thank you. _ Thank you._”

They floated towards the airlock, slowly, steadily. Eddie catches sight of Bill, booted into the ground, tether in his hands. Bill looks just as shell-shocked as Eddie feels to catch sight of Richie floating towards him. 

Bill drops the tether and extends his hands.

Richie reaches out.

“Contact!” Bill shouts. He pulls them both forward, and Eddie reaches out desperately to grasp the handhold on the wall. Bill pulls them in the rest of the way and goes to close the outer door.

“Aboard,” Eddie gasps out.

“Airlock 2 outder door closed,” Bill says giddily.

“_Yes_!” Stan shouts.

“Copy,” Beverly says.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**[FEBRUARY 2037, EARTH]**

Around the world, Commander Marsh’s voice rings calmly through the communication line. “Houston, this is _ Hermes _Actual. Seven crew safely aboard.”

A control room in Houston explodes with applause. People leap from their seats and embrace one another, and there isn’t a dry eye in the house. The flight director for the Mars mission falls to his knees and looks up at the ceiling, thanking a God he wasn’t sure he believed in.

Around the world, people embrace the same way. People in parks, people sitting at bars, crowds gathered in front of televisions everywhere, all celebrating the life of one astronaut safely recovered and the six people who fought to save his life.

In a modest home in a small town in California, an elderly couple cling to each other in sheer relief and thank god that their son will make it home, _alive_. The NASA representative accepts their hug when she is tugged into it as well.

The family members of the other six crew members cheer and toast and cry in their own homes, each one relieved that it will only be a few short months until they are all reunited again.

Safely aboard the ship that will return them all home, seven crew mates cling to one another and cry in relief. They are a family that is finally reunited and there is no doubt any of their minds that they will never allow anything to separate them again.

Feeling safer than he has in eighteen months, Richie Tozier moves as discreetly as he can to turn off his own radio. He doesn’t want his crew or any of the rest of the world to hear when he breaks down in sobs and screams, as gently as he can, desperately in pain and overwhelmingly relieved to be alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> captain's log:  
today i realized i wrote 50k during november which is like.... nano but without the commitment so cool to know that i'm capable of writing that much in 30 days when possessed by two angry 40 year old gremlins who battled an alien muder clown twice. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
anyway i've been trying to adjust to going back to work after ten days off as well as preparing for finals and writing papers and somehow managing to crank out ELEVEN THOUSAND WORDS of a rescue. whoops.  
i .... cried while writing this. i hope i did it justice.
> 
> thank you guys so much for reading and for all your lovely comments. the response i receive each time i post a new chapter blows my mind. i share your excitement for what comes next. i'm grateful for all of you. I LOVE YOU.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's... done? holy shit? i think i finished it?  
it's angsty and it goes places i didn't expect to go and it's a little all over the place since it covers six months but... it's done... there's still so much of this story to tell but WOW GUYS WE MADE IT TO THE VERY LAST PART OF THE FIRST PART. oh my god.

**[MISSION DAY 687 - HERMES] **

Stan is out of his chair the second Bill confirms the airlock is closed.

He knows the path to Airlock 2 now better than any other route on the ship. As soon as the plan to rescue Richie was finalized with the crew, he had figured out the fastest way to get to the airlock from their work stations. He’s practiced running this route as many times as he’s practiced equations in his head. When he couldn’t sleep, he paced the corridor and made sure he knew it by heart.

There was going to be absolutely nothing that stopped him from getting to Richie the second he was safely on board.

Stan barely has a moment to register that he has cried out in shock, in victory, in _relief, _before he falls out of his chair and moves, floating as quickly as he can toward the airlock. He’s faintly aware of the others following behind him. Technically, Bill has been tasked with resealing the VAL once they confirmed seven crew safely on board, and Stan should be staying back to make sure their course is still on track, but Stan knows none of them care about that right now.

Richie is _back._

One of their own is finally back where he belongs. They had _mourned _Richie. They had spent months imagining what their lives would be like going forward without them. They had no choice but to move on without him. They deserve a moment to celebrate the fact that now, _finally, _they don’t have to.

Stan keeps himself ahead of all of them. There’s a desperation clawing in his chest, so fierce and vicious that he thinks it might shred him apart if he doesn’t get to Richie soon. Bill’s words are echoing in his ears but it won’t mean anything until he catches sight of Richie.

He staggers to a stop when he finally makes it to the airlock.

Bill and Eddie still stand there, clutching one another, and curled in between them in an orange EVA suit that Stan hasn’t seen in eighteen months, is Richie.

His lungs feel like they’ve been punched right out of his chest.

“Richie, _Richie,_” he chokes out. He moves forward, hand already extending, as Richie wearily raises his head. His face goes slack and awed when he catches sight of Stan, but Stan has to fight desperately to keep his expression from turning horrified. This is Richie, it’s _Richie, _but it’s a Richie that has been through hell and back and it shows on his face. It shows in the gaunt lines of his cheeks and the dark circles of his eyes. It shows in the slanted shock of his smile. This is Richie if someone dropped him down right smack in the middle of the Underworld and laughed as he tried to claw his way out.

Stan gets a grip on Richie’s suit and tugs him forward.

He can feel Richie suck in a sharp breath when he hits Stan’s chest but Richie makes no sound, and wordlessly he wraps his arms around Stan as Stan holds onto him. Stan tries to remind himself not to crush, not to cling, not to do anything that might aggravate Richie’s pain more. Richie’s voice echoes in his ears, reminding Stan that he’s pretty sure he broke a rib or two. But Stan holds onto him anyway, as gently as he can, and he cries harder than he has once in these long eighteen months.

“Richie,” he sobs out. He runs his hands up and down Richie’s arms. Part of him still can’t wrap his head around this. The logical part of his brain tells Stan that the man he holds in his embrace should be long dead. “Richie, holy shit.”

“Stan?” Richie croaks out. There’s disbelief in his voice that cuts right through Stan. “Hey, Staniel. _Hey._ What are you crying for?”

“You’re a goddamn asshole, Rich,” Stan sniffs, but he doesn’t let Richie go. Richie laughs weakly and pats his back.

The others come, then. They cling to each other as gently as they can. Richie is _here _and they are all vehemently aware that he is not the same and that they must not break him more, but he is _here. _Stan’s soul has been searching for him for eighteen months and finally, _finally, _the puzzle piece that fell off the table has been put back in place and they can all be complete again.

He is faintly aware of Richie moving subtly, and one moment he can hear Richie’s gentle gasps in his ear and the next he can’t, and it doesn’t take long to put together that Richie has turned off his comms. They are are still suited up and their group hug is mostly just bodies standing close together, and right smack in the middle of it Richie is crying out in pain and not letting his friends hear.

Stan feels a complex variety of emotions as he watches the anguish twist around Richie’s facial expressions. Amidst all his pain, there is relief in the slight twist of his mouth that feels incomprehensible to Stan.

Eventually it becomes too much to bear.

“Okay,” Stan says loudly, hiccuping around another sob and pushing back on whoever had been holding onto him. “We gotta let him breathe, guys, let him breathe.”

Slowly the circle dissipates, each of them stepping away reluctantly, none of them taking their eyes off of Richie. On his part, Richie shoots Stan a thankful look and moves subtly to turn his comm back on. He clears his throat and says in a raspy voice, “I hate to be the bearer of bad news here, but _god, _you guys look, like, super desperate here. I mean, all this work for just one guy? What if I don’t even put out?”

“Beep beep,” Stan says sharply, and he reaches out to stop Eddie from shoving Richie’s shoulder. He doesn’t dwell on the horrified look Eddie shoots him, subtly, once he realizes what he’d almost done. They’ll have time for it later, Stan thinks.

“Seriously, R-R-Richie, read the room,” Bill teases him.

Beverly gently squeezes Richie’s wrist. Everything is bulky and awkward, with all of them still in their suits, but Richie beams at her like it’s the greatest thing he’s felt in all his life. And—well. It most certainly is _one _of the greatest things he’s felt in eighteen months, at least.

Stan has to swallow thickly around the lump in his throat.

“I need to examine him,” Eddie says suddenly. His cheeks turn noticeably pink. He stares resolutely at Richie anyway. “I mean, Christ, I can only imagine what kind of physical damage he’s endured. We put him through hell on the way up here, not to mention pulling him out of the MAV and probably exacerbating his internal injuries during the recovery. God, don’t even get me _started _on what could have happened down there, no offense, Richie, but seriously, you’re probably a medical marvel—”

Beverly, thankfully, cuts him off. “Kaspbrak, take Tozier to the medbay. Denbrough and Hanlon, I need you both to go close the outer VAL door so we can repressurise again. Uris, go check our telemetry, Hanscom, check our flight path. I don’t want any more problems going forward. We have a _safe _journey ahead of us, do you copy?”

“Yes, Commander,” six voices ring back.

Stan chokes back another cry, unable to help it. _Six voices._

Richie always said they were the Lucky Seven. Stan’s just relieved he was right.

* * *

The others slowly dissipate, all of them reluctant to take their eyes off of Richie and murmuring their relief that he’s back as they go. Richie leans against Eddie, subtly, like he thinks Eddie doesn’t notice, but he slumps almost entirely once Stan has fully disappeared around the corridor.

“Whoa, whoa,” Eddie cries out. Beverly moves immediately to help Eddie get Richie back on his feet.

“Sorry,” Richie slurs. His head lolls dangerously, and Eddie reaches up to steady him. “I’m just so tired, Eds.”

Eddie’s expression softens. He can’t imagine, truly, how exhausted Richie must be. The adrenaline of the last eighteen months must finally be wearing out. Eddie’s terrified of what will happen when Richie’s body isn’t protecting him from his pain. “I know, man,” he murmurs. “I know. I’m just gonna float you on down to the medbay, okay? Stay limp. It’s okay.”

Richie complies, and Eddie maneuvers him until he finds the easiest way to push Richie forward towards the medbay.

“Commander, will you stay close and keep an eye on us?” Eddie asks quietly.

“Copy that,” she says, in a tone of voice that strongly implies _you couldn’t get me to go anywhere else._

Richie’s head tilts to the side, and he sucks in a sharp breath as they make their way down the corridor. Eddie’s eyes are on his face immediately. Richie’s expression is relatively calm, but there’s awe in his voice and a slight quiver as he asks dazedly, “Holy fuck. That looks like a wall on the _Hermes. _Is this real?”

Eddie’s heart rate plummets.

It’s messy, and it doesn’t feel quite the same, but he frantically reaches forward and pulls Richie’s gloved hand against his own. He squeezes until Richie turns back to look at him and finally, _finally, _his passive expression cracks. There’s _real _emotion in his voice as he breathes out, “Eds?”

“This is real,” Eddie reassures him. He’d put Richie’s hand over his own beating heart if it helped convince Richie that this is real.

Richie’s face screws up, complicated, confused. “Fuck, did I say that out loud?”

Beverly puts a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Rich,” she soothes.

“Sorry,” he whispers, and his eyes slip closed. “Sorry. Not used to… people being around. To hear what I say.”

Eddie thinks he might throw up.

Richie starts to giggle, unprompted, and he squeezes Eddie’s hand as best as he can. “Video log entry, Sol… five-fifty?”

“Five-forty-nine,” Eddie corrects in a small voice.

“Five-forty-nine,” Richie repeats, and Eddie watches his face go slack as he finally slips out of consciousness.

Beverly shoots Eddie a stricken look.

“He’s okay,” Eddie croaks. “He’ll probably be in and out of it for the next few hours, especially if I don’t put him on morphine. He’s okay. Please just help me get him into a bed.”

They make it to the medbay right as Bill comes over the line and confirms that the outer VAL door has been sealed off. Mike gets started on the repressurization process, and Eddie leads Richie over to a bed.

“Bev,” Eddie says quietly. “When I examine him… you can’t be here for that.”

She looks up at him, eyes sharp. “_Eddie._”

“I’m serious,” he snaps. “Christ, Bev, we have no idea what he went through down there. Things happened to him that he never told anyone about. That he’ll _never _tell anyone about. It’s going to be bad enough tracking the last eighteen months through his wounds. He’s not going to want everyone to see that.”

“Eddie, _you _need someone here,” Beverly says, because she knows him better than perhaps anyone else ever has. She knows him in a way not even Richie does.

But Eddie shakes his head. “I have him here,” he says simply. Like all of his problems have been absolved by the fact that Richie is here, breathing, touchable, _alive, _on a bed in a medbay on their ship once again. Hell, maybe everything has been absolved. Nothing else seems to matter now, anyway, besides the gentle rise and fall of Richie’s chest. “I _have _him.”

“He’s gonna experiment on me, Commander,” Richie croaks out,_ awake, _again, and it’s the most beautiful thing Eddie has ever heard. He whirls around and floats immediately to Richie’s side. “I’m like a surgeon’s wet dream. So many undocumented wounds. Never-performed-before procedures. He’s gonna be the most famous doctor on Earth when we get back.”

Eddie puts his gloved hand on Richie’s helmet, not quite close enough but almost stroking his face.

“You’re gonna be more famous than…” Richie stammers out. He locks eyes with Eddie, gaze unfocused, grin dopey. “Than… than, like. Uhhh. Dr. Seuss. You’ll be more famous than that fucker, Dr. K.”

“That is truer than true,” Eddie agrees. “Rich, the ship is about to repressurize, so it might feel weird for a bit, okay?”

Richie reaches up and his hand smacks against Eddie’s arm, uncoordinated. “Hurts to breathe, Dr. K.”

Something swells up viciously in Eddie’s throat. It’s intense, and unlike anything he’s ever felt before. He doesn’t take his gaze off of Richie as he promises, “I know, man. Stop trying to make yourself laugh, you’re probably fucking up your broken ribs more. Just a few more minutes then we can get you out of that suit and examine you, okay?”

“If you wanted to get me naked, all you had to do was ask, Eds,” Richie says seriously.

“Beep beep,” Beverly sighs, and Eddie’s gaze snaps to her. In all honesty, he’d forgotten she was still there. “I can’t believe the last time we were all alone in the room together I had to witness your weird attempts at flirting, and now that we’re alone together _again _that’s the first thing you guys do. Unbelievable.”

“Flirting?” Richie scoffs. “Baby, you’re witnessing a full on _seduction_.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but his voice still breaks as he says, “You really haven’t changed at all, have you?”

“Eds, Eddie, _fuck, _please don’t cry,” Richie chants. “Dude, I’m serious, I haven’t seen another living thing in a billion years and I don’t know how to handle tears anymore. I’m gonna have to relearn. Fuck. I’m sorry, I’m _sorry, _what did I do?”

“Nothing, you dumb idiot, I just fucking missed you!” Eddie snaps.

Richie’s eyes, impossibly wide even obscured by plated glass, stare back at him in surprise. Somehow Eddie doesn’t understand why Richie would be _surprised _by the clear inevitability that he would be _missed. _

“Oh,” Richie says, in an impossibly small voice.

“Yeah, oh,” Eddie repeats sharply. “You’re a part of this crew, you dumbass. We’ve known you for years. You’re our friend, Richie, you’re our _fucking family. _We missed you, okay? I… _I _missed you. Jesus. You don’t have to act so fucking surprised by it!”

“Eddie,” Beverly says, soft but warning.

But Richie just blinks at him, still looking awestruck. The medical professional in Eddie knows that Richie is probably in shock, and he also knows that yelling probably is not the best course of action—but the irrational, emotional, _desperately _human part of him that’s so in love with Richie it hurts to breathe sometimes, can’t help but want to shake Richie by the shoulders and shout in his face until he understands.

He is a part of this crew. He is the _heart _of them.

“Well, Jesus fuck,” Richie says. “I missed you too, Kasprak. I’ll tell you all about it someday.”

Eddie lets out a strangled laugh. “You can rest, Rich. We have some time until the ship repressurizes.”

Richie nods, once, barely noticeable in his suit, and Eddie watches as his eyelids flutter closed again and his face relaxes the moment he falls unconscious again. Eddie wonders how much of this Richie will remember when he comes to, for good.

“Holy fuck,” Eddie breathes out, and his shoulders sag.

“You don’t have to do this alone, Kaspbrak,” Beverly reminds him.

Eddie doesn’t take his eyes off of Richie. “All do respect, Commander,” he admits. “I think this is something I _have_ to do alone.”

It’s subtle, but Beverly shifts her weight and in an instant she goes from _commander _to _friend. _Eddie feels the weight of her love immensely when she reaches out and touches his shoulder.

“Are you going to tell him?” she asks. There’s a hint of a teasing lilt in her voice. He knows, inevitably, that this is just the beginning. He doubts she’ll ever let this go.

Not that he blames her.

“Richie, I love you,” Eddie says flatly. Richie doesn’t so much as twitch. “Guess that’s that.”

“Eddie,” Beverly sighs.

Eddie turns to look at her. “He has so much recovery still ahead of him, Beverly, it can’t be smart for me to be like, ‘hey, on top of Mars nearly murdering you on a day to day basis for eighteen months, I’d like to add my big dumb crush on you to the things you’re currently trying to work through.’ I know I’m an asshole, Bev, but that seems like it’s a bit much.”

Beverly’s unimpressed look makes Eddie wilt a little bit. “For what it’s worth, I think he’d appreciate knowing about your big dumb crush on him. He might even ask you to prescribe kisses as his recovery treatment.”

“Oh, you’re so funny,” Eddie mutters. “Unfortunately, Richie is the kind of guy who would make that joke.”

Beverly lets out a groan that suggests she’s been suffering for ages. Eddie looks at her incredulously, right as she says, “Eddie, you idiot, he wouldn’t be joking.”

She leaves the medbay without saying anything else, and she’s long gone by the time Eddie even thinks about replying.

**[MISSION DAY 699 - HERMES] **

“I swear to _Martian Jesus, _Eddie, if you feed me another applesauce, I will fucking _die._”

“You could stand to be less dramatic in your day-to-day tasks,” Eddie says mildly. “It’s just applesauce. And it’s the easiest food to digest on this ship, which means that’s what you get to eat right now, so eat up.”

Richie lets out a childish whine that he’s surprised he doesn’t get slapped for. “I ate potatoes for approximately one billion days straight, and yet it’s the applesauce that’s gonna kill me now. _Eddie._”

“I can make you mashed potatoes,” Eddie deadpans.

“I will _murder _you where you stand.”

Eddie slaps at Richie’s hand when he plucks at his I.V. “Stop fucking picking at it or I’ll have to poke you with another needle,” Eddie snaps. “Stop whining. We don’t have a feeding tube on board so applesauce it is. We have this argument every fucking day, Richie.”

“And every day I think a feeding tube would have been preferable to this shit,” Richie shoots back. “Eds. I swear I can handle a real meal. I ate one before I launched up in the MAV and it didn’t kill me!”

Eddie tilts Richie’s chin up with his finger and flashes a light in his eyes. Richie, on his part, doesn’t even flinch. He thinks he’s getting pretty good at being a model patient. “Pupils look good and responsive,” he says evenly. “How are the headaches?”

“Gone,” Richie sighs, bored. “So are the dizzy spells.”

Eddie hums. “I think we can confirm your concussion is healed.”

Richie rolls his eyes once Eddie’s hand lets go of his face. Eddie’s already puttering around for his stethoscope when Richie mutters, “We could’ve confirmed that three days ago.”

“Which one of us has a medical degree?” Eddie demands, turning sharply on his heel.

“I’m starting to think you paid someone off for yours,” Richie throws back. “You’re a _bossy _doctor. Do your patients on Earth say that, too? Are they, like, begging the anesthesiologist to put them under so they don’t have to listen to you bully them?”

Eddie sighs, patiently, because he’s as much a saint as he is an asshole. He puts the stethoscope on Richie’s chest and puts his other hand on Richie’s back. “Can you take a deep breathe please?” he asks.

“Hurts,” Richie mutters, but he tries his best anyway.

Eddie is quiet as he listens to Richie’s heart. Richie breathes, patiently, each time Eddie moves the chestpiece.

“You’re gonna give yourself pneumonia,” Eddie murmurs. “You need to take deep breaths.”

“My ribs are _broken_.”

Eddie pulls the stethoscope away. Ridiculously, Richie feels colder at the loss of contact. He knows he’s a hopeless case but he can’t help but think that this is a bit much. “I know they are,” Eddie says. He sounds almost apologetic. “But if you don’t take deep breaths and utilize your lung function then you’re going to get an infection and I don’t really want to treat pneumonia in space.”

“That’d be a cool movie,” Richie admits. “_Pneumonia in Space. _An interstellar infection.”

“You’re an idiot,” Eddie informs him fondly.

“I come bearing applesauce,” Bill says, knocking on the doorway and waving the offending snack in the air. Richie scowls at it so hard that Bill cracks a grin as soon as he catches sight of it. “I see you’re still throwing a temper tantrum about your restrictive diet.”

Richie crosses his arms petulantly. “If you’re going to feed me like a child, I’m going to behave like a child, and you can’t stop me.”

Bill’s grin might be slightly manic. “God, it’s good to have him back. R-right, Eddie?”

“Speak for yourself,” Eddie mutters. “Richie. I need to examine your ribs. Take off your shirt.”

Richie tries to sing, “_Let’s do it, ride it, my pony_,” but the effect is lost with how he can barely raise his arms above his head and with how he gets stuck in his shirt trying to pull it off.

“Okay, Channing Tatum,” Eddie sighs, and after another second of Richie’s struggling he reaches forward to help. Richie hopes his full body flush is not as obvious as it feels. “The bruising looks better.”

Personally, Richie thinks that the black and purple and green and yellow splotches all over his chest make him look like he swallowed a supernova or something on his ascent, but he trusts Eddie.

“Don’t bring up that movie,” Bill warns, “or he’ll h-h-have to mention--”

“I think I follow more closely after Big Dick Richie,” he says, right on cue, and he gives them both a wolfish grin when they look back at him, unimpressed. “Oh come on, Eduardo, you walked right into that one.”

Eddie’s hands are cold as he presses them gently to Richie’s ribcage, and Richie flinches away automatically. “Sorry,” he says quickly, when Eddie retracts his hands. “Sorry. Promise that wasn’t from pain. Your hands are fucking ice cubes, Dr. K.”

“The curse of the physician,” Eddie admits. “So your pain is better?”

Richie flinches away again when Eddie’s hands brush against the deepest bruise on his chest. He sucks in a sharp breath, having moved too quickly, and he hisses, “Mother_fucker, _goddamnit, _ow._”

Eddie pulls away and turns back to his medical notes. “Broken ribs take a while to heal, Rich, it’s okay,” Eddie reassures him, but the words fall flat. Richie feels useless, restless, broken in ways he never has before. It hurts to laugh. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to dress himself in the mornings. It hurts to stand too long in the shower and it hurts when he tries to sit down and it hurts when he wakes up with a strangled scream on his lips on the worst nights of his nightmares. The crew walks around him like he’s broken, too. He isn’t allowed to do any work. He can barely walk the corridor without someone catching him and hurrying to his side to make him lean on them. He can’t even eat, for god’s sake.

“Good thing we have an uninterrupted five months left of space travel ahead of us for me to work on it, right?” Richie mutters sarcastically.

Bill drops a light hand on Richie’s shoulder, gaze sympathetic. Richie appreciates the gesture, but mostly he just wishes that Bill would shut the hell up until _he _has to suffer from a traumatic broken rib injury. “Better than the alternative.”

“Jesus, Bill, that’s so fucking dark,” Richie says. He nudges Bill’s hand off of his shoulder and reaches for his applesauce. Bill even brought him a _spoon, _the big dork. Richie tries poorly to hide his smile.

Over at his desk, Richie catches sight of Eddie turning at the last possible second, a small grin on his face as well.

**LOG ENTRY: MISSION DAY 704 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_Today my brief conversation with my NASA shrink led to the decision that I should start journaling, or whatever. Technically I’m still doing logs, because the Hermes has all the same shit the Hab did, but it feels like journaling now._

_Anyway. Hello from the Hermes, I guess!_

_I had a very big achievement today. I walked down the hall, all by myself! No one rushed to my side to help me, and I didn’t need to lean on any walls. Pretty impressive for the guy with four broken ribs._

_Best part of all? Eddie had this gorgeous grin on his face. Like a whole, ear to ear, real happy kind of grin. I haven’t seen that since I got back. Well, technically I guess since before they left, but still. That was the first thing I wanted to see when I made it back onto the Hermes and today I finally got it. Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. How sappy is that?_

_Sometime next week, they’re even going to let me eat RICE. A real meal! I might pass out from excitement._

**[MISSION DAY 715 - HERMES] **

In the middle of the night, Ben wakes up in a panic and almost lets out a shout when he realizes there’s a figure standing at the foot of his bed. He blinks blearily, and sits up in alarm when he realizes who it is.

“Richie? You okay, man?”

Richie swallows thickly. “You have, like, the _worst _taste in music, dude,” he says, then he turns on his heel and leaves Ben’s quarters.

Ben lets out a startled laugh, waits until his door closes again, then pulls the covers back up and falls back asleep.

**[MISSION DAY 732 - HERMES] **

It starts with Richie screaming.

Mike had already been sleeping poorly. He had just been contemplating whether or not he should climb out of bed to wander to the kitchens to see if they had any tea he could make to calm his nerves when he heard the screams start up a few doors down.

He’s on his feet and out the door in a second.

Instinctively he knows that it’s Richie, perhaps so fine-tuned to keeping tabs on Richie at all times now that he’s back that it has become second nature for Mike. He throws the door to Richie’s quarters open and staggers towards Richie’s bed, where Richie is thrashing in his sheets.

“Richie, hey, Richie!” Mike yells. He climbs into the bed and tries to get a hand on Richie’s shoulder to wake him up, but Richie wrenches out of his grip. He’s twisting so viciously that Mike is sure he’s messing up his ribs worse. “Richie, _wake up_!”

“Stan!” Richie shrieks, and his flailing leg nearly kicks Mike in the chest. “Stan, _Stan, _no! No!”

Mike decides, then, that him grabbing onto Richie now would most likely cause less damage than allowing Richie to keep thrashing on his own. He leans forward and gets a good grip on Richie’s shoulders, tugging him up and forward until Mike can get an arm around him.

Richie gasps out in pain and his eyelids flutter, and something in Mike’s chest seizes. “Richie, Richie, it’s okay, I’m here, man,” Mike murmurs. Richie struggles against him, still fighting to wake up fully, and Mike holds on tighter. “You’re okay, Rich, you’re safe, I’m here.”

“Stanley,” Richie pants out, and he sags against Mike’s chest.

“Stan’s safe,” Mike promises him. He has a fleeting image of the memory of Stan finishing out his most recent email home to his wife before making his rounds across the room and saying goodnight to each of them individually then going to bed. “It’s okay, you’re safe, Stan’s safe.”

Richie shudders harshly and chokes on another gasp, and his voice is raspy when he calls out, “Mike?”

Mike looks down at him quickly. Richie’s face is bleary and confused, tear tracks still stain his cheeks, and there are worry lines on his forehead, but he is finally awake. Mike’s shoulders sag in relief, and he loosens his hold on Richie.

“There you are,” he whispers. Richie shifts and grunts out in pain. “Damnit, sorry.”

“What—” Richie starts to say. He looks towards the doorway and the rest of his sentence never comes. Mike follows his gaze to find Eddie and Stan standing there, both with similar looks of horror and concern on their faces. Stan is crying softly. “Guys?”

“You were having a nightmare,” Mike says. “I think. I mean, you were thrashing around and you were screaming for Stan. But you’re okay, you’re here, you’re safe. We’re all on the _Hermes _and we’re all staying here, okay?”

Richie blinks, confused. Disoriented. “Stan?” he repeats.

In the doorway, Stan lets out a strangled sob.

“He’s _okay,_” Mike repeats, looking back towards them both. Something in his tone must snap Eddie out of it, because he shakes his head slightly then steps forward, switching into doctor mode in an instant.

“He probably fucked up his ribs some more,” Eddie says. “Rich, how’s your chest feel?”

Richie’s speech is slow, still trying to pull himself into consciousness, but he blinks heavily at Eddie and says, slowly, “Fuckin’ hurts.”

He flinches away from Eddie’s hands when Eddie tries to examine him and leans further into Mike’s side.

“Let me examine you,” Eddie snaps.

“No, wait ‘til morning,” Richie retorts back petulantly. “M’serious, Eds, I don’t fucking want it ‘til I’m for reals awake and outta bed.”

Eddie looks exasperatedly at Mike. “Richie.”

Richie scoffs. “Eddie,” he says back in a sarcastic tone.

“_Richie,_” Stan says sharply from the doorway, where he still hasn’t moved. He shuffles in a little bit further, letting the door fall closed behind him. “Rich, I’m—I’m so fucking sorry. Whatever you were dreaming about, whatever it was with me—”

“No,” Richie interrupts. He tries to sit up and cries out when Mike goes to help him. There’s no easy way to help him with anything he tries to do, and it breaks Mike’s heart. “No, Stan. It… _fuck. _Wasn’t you. I was dreaming about the Hab exploding. There was a sprout up there. Named him Stan. I was screaming for my leafy little potato plant, you’re—you’re off the hook.”

Stan lets out a wet laugh. “You named a plant after me?”

“Dude grew in soil that was previously declared hostile,” Richie explains slowly. “Stubborn little bastard. Felt familiar to me, for some reason.”

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” Stan says, but his words are lessened by the new round of tears that start to fall.

Mike sighs, but Richie burrows closer to him, and Mike remembers that his crew’s antics are worth it. It’s worth it, for this.

“We should let him sleep,” Mike tells them quietly. Eddie’s eyes snap up to meet his, clearly reluctant to look away from Richie while he’s like this, but Mike can see the moment Eddie decides that he agrees. “Rich, you want me to stay?”

Richie hums against him and his fingers tighten around Mike’s shirt. “Eddie,” he says in response.

Mike raises an eyebrow at Eddie, who flushes bright pink, noticeable even in the dark of the room. Then Richie’s shoulders tighten and he mutters out, “No, right, you’re Mike. Sorry. M’so sleepy. Yes. Please stay.”

Eddie swallows thickly. “I’m coming to check on you in the morning, Tozier.”

“See you in my dreams, Eds-Spagheds,” Richie murmurs, but Mike thinks he might already be asleep again.

Mike looks between Eddie and Stan, both reluctant to leave. “I’ll keep an eye on him,” he promises. He feels their fear just as deeply, though he doubts either of them even know it. He worries that he won’t ever be able to let Richie out of his sight again. “I got him.”

“You got him,” Stan repeats faintly. “Yeah. Thanks. Thanks, Mikey.”

Neither of them say anything else as they walk out the door. It takes a few minutes for Mike to feel settled, but eventually he falls asleep easily and knows he dreams of all of his friends living safely, off of this ship for good.

**[MAY 2037, EARTH]**

“I’m just saying that the public would love to see him,” Annie says, following hot on Mitch’s heels. “Teddy agrees, we can ask Tozier to just do a short clip smiling and waving to release to the public so they can see that he’s healthy and alive.”

“They’ll see that he’s alive,” Mitch agrees, “but I’m not so certain they’ll agree that he’s healthy. Dr. Kaspbrak still tells us there’s plenty of signs of malnutrition. It will be months before that goes away. He looks thin and sallow, he’s still struggling for breath, and I’m not sure that the _media _will be with seeing pictures of him looking like he’s on his deathbed.”

Annie huffs indignantly. “All due respect, Mitch, they’re a lot smarter than you give them credit for. They know that there’s likely to be injuries that we don’t even know the half of. We know enough about Eddie Kaspbrak to come to the conclusion that there’s plenty he’s working on regarding Tozier’s recovery that he won’t ever share with us. But it’s just one short video.”

Mitch turns sharply, and Annie almost crashes into him. “Do you understand that this could break his spirit even more?” he snaps. “Annie. He just went through hell and back. He deserves six months of peace and quiet before everyone starts jumping down his throat again.”

“He’s gotten two and a half already,” Annie argues. “The _Hermes _is scheduled to land in mid-August. Are you telling me that you’d prefer that media’s first sighting of Richie Tozier be when he gets off that carrier?”

Whatever Mitch was going to retort dies in his throat as he thinks this over. They’ve already decided to close the tarmac to the public, limiting it to family members for the crew, employees involved in this mission, and a few select reporters after extensive vetting by Annie. But there will be cameras and phones taking videos and Richie Tozier struggling to get out of that carrier after spending almost three years in space is, perhaps, not something he wants to remember for the rest of his life back on Earth.

His shoulders sag. “I’ll ask the crew. But Annie, _they _have to sign off on it. I want written consent from Dr. Kaspbrak that he thinks Tozier is healthy enough to do this, and maybe even written consent with the psychiatrist that’s been talking to Tozier. And Tozier has to agree to it, too. If he doesn’t want to, then the answer is no.”

Annie follows up behind him again when Mitch tries to walk away. “Why can’t I ask him?” she demands.

“Because I’m worried about what you’ll say to convince him,” Mitch says honestly. “And because I’ve caused enough damage to the crew. I’d like the chance to start making it right.”

**LOG ENTRY: MISSION DAY 791 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_Soooo… I can’t stop coughing._

_It’s not pneumonia. Eddie wants to jump there automatically because I guess that’s a risk in broken rib cases, but it’s not. It’s just a cough._

_It’s probably just a cough. Right?_

**[MISSION DAY 795 - HERMES] **

“How long has he had a fucking cough?” Eddie demands.

“If he’s had it for a while, he’s been hiding it from us,” Ben says as he helps lift Richie into a bed. “I might hear him coughing at night sometimes? But I don’t know for sure.”

“Motherfucker,” Eddie snarls. “I swear to _god, _Richie, I warned this would happen.”

“Not pneumonia,” Richie insists weakly. “It’s just a cough.”

Eddie takes his temperature, and it’s a testament to how unwell Richie must be feeling that he doesn’t even throw a fit. Eddie swears under his breath once he gets the reading. “You have a fever,” he snaps. “Fucking pneumonia. We’re gonna need to do a chest x-ray.”

“_No_,” Richie says vehemently. “I don’t want fucking pneumonia, Eds!”

“Then you should have taken deep breaths more, like I told you to,” Eddie yells back. He’s running through the ship’s inventory in his head, wondering what he had available to treat pneumonia. Part of him wants to be aggressive as fuck treating this, not even giving the infection a chance to _think _about staying, but the other part of him knows that Richie’s body is fragile enough as it is and that they have to proceed with caution.

“Eddie, calm down,” Ben murmurs under his breath.

“Get me the portable x-ray machine.”

Richie makes a pained noise as he tries to sit up, but he doesn’t even wither under Eddie’s sharp glare. “I can’t do another bed rest, Kaspbrak, I can’t fucking do it, so it can’t be pneumonia. I _just _got cleared to lose the I.V. bag I’ve been carrying around everywhere. If it’s pneumonia, I’m throwing myself out of the airlock.”

“For Christ’s sake, _stop _being so dramatic!” Eddie says. Ben rolls the x-ray machine over and Eddie hands him one of the lead aprons. “Ben, grab the DR panel please. Richie, _lay_ _back down_ right now.”

Richie does as he’s told. Eddie slides the DR panel under his back before sliding on his own apron. “If it is pneumonia, we can treat it. It’s treatable, okay? I was. Maybe I was just overreacting. We’ll keep you hydrated. Give you antibiotics and fever reducers. I mean, we’re on the _Hermes, _we can isolate it. You’ll be fine.”

Ben is staring at him. Eddie can feel it. He doesn’t need to look at Ben’s face to know that Ben is wondering if he’s saying all this stuff out loud for Richie’s benefit or for his own.

“Treatable pneumonia in space,” Richie says. “That sounds like the most boring movie ever.”

“Are you _trying _to die?!” Eddie snaps. “You want this to be boring, you idiot! Jesus. Can you hold still, please?”

Richie sighs loudly but stops his fidgeting, resting his arms by his sides. “I’m supposed to do that video in a few days,” he says, worrying out loud. His fingers tap against the bed. “Annie might teleport here and murder me if I have pneumonia, because I’ll look sick in the video and everyone on Earth will see, and they won’t like that.”

“Shut up, Richie,” Eddie murmurs as he positions the x-ray.

Ben shifts his weight from side to side. “None of us really want you to do that video anyway, Rich,” Ben reminds him.

Richie scoffs. “Eddie signed the consent form!”

“Because you bullied me,” Eddie mutters. “I think your exact words were, ‘Eddie, you’re denying the public of my handsome mug if you don’t agree to this.’ Then some vague threat about publicly trashing my music taste.”

There’s a moment of quiet, and Eddie takes the pictures.

“That does sound like something I’d say,” Richie admits grudgingly. He looks up as Eddie starts to wheel the machine away. “So? Is it pneumonia?”

Eddie looks at him flatly. “I need a few minutes.”

“Do you really think the video is a bad idea?” Richie asks Ben, sitting up with his help and handing Eddie back the DR panel.

Ben takes a deep breath, stalling. “I don’t think it’s the _smartest _idea,” he finally says. “I mean, Rich… that’s going to be public record for life. You’ll probably see it everywhere you go for as long as you live. And I get why you want to do it, I really do, but… I worry that you don’t see that. I worry that you haven’t thought about how this image of you will be immortalized. You—you won’t ever forget this part, if you do the clip.”

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath. He turns and catches Richie’s expression harden, and Richie drops his gaze from Ben. “Dude, are you serious? I won’t ever forget _any _part of it.”

Ben’s expression drops in an instance. “Shit, I didn’t mean it like—”

“Maybe one day I’ll tell you all about it,” Richie suggests. “Share all the dirty, gory details of the eighteen months I spent in isolation on a planet not fit for human survival, so you can never forget it, right alongside me.”

“Richie,” Eddie says quietly.

“No, no, I’d love to talk about it,” Richie continues, holding a hand up to Eddie to placate him. “I mean, I don’t know _why _I’ve been keeping it quiet for so long. I bet you need a new bedtime story, don’t you?”

“_Richie_,” Eddie snaps, a warning and a call to his attention. Whatever else Richie was going to say falls flat as he turns to face Eddie, but Eddie barely looks away from his screen. “The scan came up. It’s pneumonia.”

Richie blinks. “Motherfucker.”

**[MISSION DAY 797 - HERMES] **

Beverly is making her nightly rounds when she hears two voices coming from inside Richie’s room. This isn’t unusual, since they’ve gotten him back aboard. She finds one crewmate or another in there more often than not. It helps Richie, it helps with his nightmares; they all know it even if they don’t talk about it.

The door to Richie’s quarters is open. She catches Ben’s name in the conversation, and curiosity gets the best of her. She stops, feeling slightly guilty as she does, and leans closer.

“You don’t, Richie, it’s okay. He gets it.”

Richie sounds agitated as he says, “I scared the hell out of him. Like it’s one thing to know that I’m traumatized but it’s another thing for me to scream it in his face, you know? My therapist says that it’s okay if I get angry sometimes, but it makes me feel like shit. I do, okay? I _do _owe Ben an apology.”

Whoever is in there with him is quiet for a moment. Beverly resists the urge to peek her head in.

“You can apologize, but he’s just gonna say the same thing I did.” _Eddie. _It has to be Eddie in there with him. Eddie pauses again, then continues, “You called Dr. Shields your therapist. Not a doc from the looney bin, not the NASA shrink. Your therapist.”

Richie lets out a surprised laugh, followed immediately by guttural coughing that seems to go on forever. Beverly has time, briefly, to wonder if she should go get him a glass of water. “Well, yeah. Fuck. I guess that shit’s working after all, huh?”

“I’m proud of you, Richie,” Eddie admits. There’s a derisive snort and then a smacking sound and Richie’s low grunt of pain. Beverly stifles a laugh of her own. “I’m serious, jackass. This has to be hard as hell. And I don’t think any of us could do this, not the way you are.”

“Christ, Eds, don’t get sentimental on me now. I still haven’t figured out how to deal with human emotions. And that was a problem I had _before _getting stranded on Mars.”

Eddie laughs.

It goes quiet for so long that Beverly can’t help but poke her head in now, just a little, just to check on them. They’re both sitting up, backs against the wall, barely illuminated from the starlight outside the porthole. Richie’s eyes are closed and his hand twitches against his leg, coughing every now and again. Eddie glances out the porthole, once or twice, but mostly he just looks at Richie. Beverly is about to turn around when Eddie moves, just slightly, before he takes Richie’s hand. Both of their shoulders sag in relief.

“I’m so happy you’re alive,” Eddie admits. “I can’t… I can’t imagine what it’s like, coming back. I can’t. But I’m so glad you made it back, Richie, I’m so fucking happy.”

“I’m glad I made it back, too,” Richie whispers. “God, I wanted to live so badly… I didn’t even realize. I didn’t know how much I wanted it.”

Eddie is quiet for a second. His head drops to his chest. “I think I would have died, if we hadn’t gotten you back,” Eddie murmurs.

Richie’s head lolls to the side as he turns to look at Eddie. “I get it,” Richie promises. “Like, shit, I know I’m self-absorbed, but I can’t even imagine what it was like for you guys up here. Hoping to get me back, or whatever.”

“_No,_” Eddie gasps out, fiercely. He doesn’t raise his gaze and Richie doesn’t look away. Beverely knows, she can tell that this is the moment when she should walk away. This should be shared between Eddie and Richie and she should not be privy to it, but these are her _people, _these are her best friends, and she can’t help it. She can’t help but want to see it through.

“Eds,” Richie starts, confused, but Eddie cuts him off.

“No,” he repeats. “No, Richie, I… _I _would have died. I would have _died. _If I hadn’t gotten you back.”

Richie takes a deep breath, and it comes out stuttery. Beverly’s eyes fill with tears.

“I think most of the reason I fought so hard to get back was because I was fighting for you,” Richie admits. His voice shakes, but he doesn’t look away from Eddie’s face. Not even when Eddie finally looks up to catch his eye. He doesn’t even cough as he says, “Don’t look at me like that, I’m fucking serious. I wouldn’t have made it off that planet if I wasn’t so goddamn desperate to see your face again.”

Eddie smiles softly. “God, even when you’re being heartfelt, you’re still an asshole.”

“Some things never change,” Richie agrees.

They sit there for another moment, silent, looking at one another, illuminated by the soft glow of the starlight from the universe around them. There is a tenderness in this moment that will carry the ship until they arrive back home. Beverly smiles to herself, and turns to walk away.

**FULL TRANSCRIPT: Richard Tozier’s First Public Appearance Since Mars**

_Tozier, esteemed botanist and astronaut from NASA’s abandoned Ares III Project, provides his first public appearance since before he was stranded on Mars for eighteen months and rescued miraculously by his crew. Video posted on multiple servers, provided by NASA, on June 3rd, 2037._

(Transcript provided via the New York Times)

_[Tozier sits in front of the camera, wearing a NASA sweatshirt and sporting an I.V. bag. He gives a tentative wave to the camera.]_

TOZIER: Hey, Earth. This is kind of strange. Some of you may not know this, but I recorded video logs on the Hab’s server while I was on Mars, so talking to a camera is not something that is unfamiliar to me. In fact, I think I’ve gotten plenty of practice at this!

_[There’s some snickering off-camera, and Richie grins as he looks away and shoots someone a quick wink.]_

TOZIER: As you can see, I’m alive. Healthy, too, even though this I.V. bag suggests otherwise. Dr. Kaspbrak is taking good care of me. In fact, the whole crew is. You’ll be pleased to know that I’m barely allowed to walk a corridor alone. That’s right! I have personal escorts to every room in the _Hermes. _I’m being treated like a real king.

_[There’s more giggling off-screen, and someone mutters something indiscernible. Tozier gives the camera a sheepish look.]_

TOZIER: Dr. Kaspbrak just reminded me I’m still recovering from a rib injury, so I should cool it with the jokes. I guess all I really want to say is… I’m healing. I’m alive. And it took the collaboration of a lot of people to make this possible, so thank you. Thank you to… Hell, I don’t know, to everyone who gave a fuck. To anyone who thought some trashmouth astronaut was worth saving. I’ve been given a great gift. And I hope that I can prove to you all that it was worth it. That I was worth it. Thank you for your time. I’ll see you all next month.

**LOG ENTRY: MISSION DAY 829 [Text] - Tozier, R**

_I talked to my mom and dad today._

_We’re close enough for live feed so the second that I could, I sat down in front of the computer and waited, patiently, for the connection to finally come through. It’s been nearly three years since I saw my mother’s face, and I’m not ashamed to say that I started to cry the second I saw her._

_In all fairness, they both cried too._

_Good old Wentworth looks exactly the same. In the same breath, he told me he loved me and was glad I was on my way home and also told me the Dodgers’ stats for the last three years. It was pretty impressive, I’ll give him that._

_Maggie told me she can’t wait to hug me. And she told me she’s anxious to meet the people who defied literal space to bring me back. She called them my ‘second family’._

_And, like._

_I’ve been saying it for years. Ever since I met these guys. But hearing her say it? Knowing that other people can see? Knowing that this friendship, this bond that has forged between us, it’s forever. People I’ve never even met can see it. People who haven’t even been BORN yet will be able to see it. These people I love, these people who love me—we have moved heaven and earth to fight back to each other. And we will continue to do so as long as we all live._

_I am emotionally exhausted. I want to hug my mom more than I have ever in my life. I want to say things I still don’t have the courage to say. My ribs still hurt and I still have pneumonia, I still wake up from nightmares more nights than I don’t, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to talk about everything that happened to me. But it’s okay. It’s okay because I’m only one month away from being back on Earth. I’m only thirty-one days away from having every person I love around me, again, forever. I’m thirty-one days away from being that happy._

_No, you know what? Fuck it. I’m that happy NOW. I’m alive. I’m fucking alive. I don’t want to waste any more time._

**[MISSION DAY 860 - AUGUST 6, 2037]**

“_Hermes Actual, this is Mission Control. Confirmed launch on schedule. T minus five minutes to departure._”

Richie tries to let out a deep breath, but it gets caught in his throat, and he gasps out, “Oh, fuck, okay. Okay.”

“Are your straps secure?” Stan asks, despite the fact that he checked them himself before securing his own straps. Richie turns his head as best as he can to look at Stan, and he can’t help but laugh at the concerned look on Stan’s face. They’ve all been looking at Richie like this ever since he put his EVA suit back on for the first time in six months, since getting back on the _Hermes. _

“Super secure,” Richie reassures him.

On his other side,Eddie lets out a laugh that’s almost hysterical. Richie cranes to look at him.

“What’s so fucking funny?” Richie asks, but even he’s grinning from ear to ear. He expected this part to terrify him, but mostly he’s just looking forward to what comes next.

“You’re here,” Eddie says giddily. Bill lets out a whoop next to him, and Richie laughs even though he can’t see Bill. “Last time we did this, you weren’t. Forgive me if I’m a little fucking thrilled that you _are _here, this time. I’m fucking thrilled.”

Richie grins. “Me, too.”

“Mission Control, this is _Hermes Actual,_” Beverly calls over the comms. “Main engines start.”

“_Copy. T-minus ten… nine… eight… _”

_Home, _Richie thinks giddily. They’re almost home.

“_Seven… six… five…_ ”

“Alright there, Richie?” Eddie asks, and Richie turns to look at him again. He’s struck, once again, by the realization that his love for Eddie is larger than the cosmos can comprehend. The way he loves Eddie cannot be contained in this universe. It bleeds into all of them. It infects every part of him.

“_Three… two… _”

It’s messy and the gloves are too thick, and the angle can’t quite work because of their chairs, but Richie extends his hand as far as he can into Eddie’s space and doesn’t relax until Eddie slides his glove against Richie’s.

“I’m great, Eds,” he says. It’s not enough, but they have time. Richie has all the time in the world, soon, to say all the things he’s been too afraid to say all his life. They have time, Richie thinks, for Eddie to say it back.

“_One…_”

Richie smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> captain's log:  
coming to you minutes before i log my computer off for the night and go to sleep. these last few hours have been a whirlwind for me of crying and edited and rewriting and crying some more. i don't think i'll ever have enough words to encapsulate what a journey writing this story was. it's hard to find the line between knowing when to trust your gut to make a change and knowing when you're just being a harsh critic, but this felt like where the story had to go and i can't wait to explore it further in the next installations. it might feel like there are a lot of loose ends - i know i certainly feel that way - but i promise i have a plan for, like 87% of them probably. that being said, i love this story more than i thought was possible. i love all of you for cheering me on through it all. i hope to see you in the next installments, especially when we finally get to the reddie kiss i think we ALL deserve at this point. i hope that this story still feels worth it, at it's end.
> 
> i'd like to say one final huge thank you to my best friend, for whom i first started writing this story for. i don't think anyone expected it to turn into THIS monster, but i'm glad it did.
> 
> you can find me on [tumblr](https://rchtoziers.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/SPACERICHlE) if you want to come say hello!


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